


Andraste's Fire

by quirky21



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Real World, Canon Bisexual Character, F/F, Femslash, Fluff and Angst, Lesbian Character, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-27 10:54:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 33
Words: 114,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10016450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quirky21/pseuds/quirky21
Summary: (Not SI) A gamer woman wakes up in cold, snowy Thedas. Trying not to get eaten, she stumbles over a magic sword, finds herself in Skyhold, falls for the ruthless spymaster, battles demons, douchebags, and broken hearts, and makes her mark in history.cross-posted on ffnet.





	1. Snowy Whispers

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on fanfiction.net.
> 
> Summary: As per my usual style, an ofc changes the original storyline, falls for a badass lady, and trouble ensues. A gamer woman from our world wakes up in cold, snowy Thedas with no idea of how she got there. She stumbles over a magic sword, finds herself in Skyhold, falls for the ruthless spymaster, battles demons, douchebags, and broken hearts, and makes her mark in history.
> 
> The Leliana of Inquistion was so brilliantly dark, ruthless, haunted, and cold... Loved her! Now, she needs a little love too :)
> 
> If you're reading this for the first time, welcome! Enjoy! For those on their 2nd or more, chapters 1-8 have been edited. and there's an entirely new chapter as of 31Dec2017! Chapter 6 is new, nothing that overtly changes the story, simply fills in some empty spaces. At some point, I want to flesh out some of Sydney's adventures with the Inner Circle, but I haven't had time to do that yet. So, chapter numbers have been moved a bit.

“ _The man that tells the tale is the one that decides history. He tells it wrong, and you have nothing more than a pretty story. He tells it right, and you have a legacy. You want a story told right, you ask someone who helped make it happen. And if that someone is me, I'll make it awesome.”_

_-Varric Tethras, merchant, warrior, storyteller_

* * *

 

 

Shivering, Sydney groped for the blanket she must have kicked off in the middle of the night. Wind moved her hair around her nose, making her snort. Annoyed at the fan blowing on her, she rolled over and groped for the blanket again. Her hair continued its dance, the blanket remained out of reach, and a distinct feeling of wet pillow fully shoved her from sleep. “Alright, what the fuck is my roommate up to?”

Blinking into the incessant wind, she shoved her wet hair from her face and sat up. Her jaw threatened to fall off. There was no fan, no blanket, no pillow, and she was definitely  _not_ in her Miami apartment. It wasn't a bunk on one of the cruise liners that she spent months working on either. Brutally, she slammed palms to cheeks. She yelped. Oh, hell yes, she was awake and that snow blowing into her face was frigid and real. A more powerful tremor raised even more goosebumps on her sun-kissed skin. What sun there was, it was hidden behind the thick walls of blowing snow and the evil clouds they billowed from. Pointed shadows loomed all around her. Being actually visible, she figured they were probably huge. Big shadows, snow, cold, wind. Mountains?! The closest mountains to Miami that carried snow in the summer were states away!

Sydney rubbed at her arms, felt a new weirdness. Thick, furry-feeling-lined ash grey gloves covered her hands, similar boots on her feet. Her body was relatively snug in heavy, quilted fabric. It looked like red-dyed wool, but felt like real silk on the inside. Had to be layers upon layers. Wide and sturdy looking, a grey leather belt was around her waist. Wind tugged at a weight hanging around her shoulders that turned out to be a grey, woolen cloak with a hood. The wind kept yanking on it. Shivering, she yanked it back and wrapped it tightly around her body and head.

“Fuck this noise! I hate snow.” She stamped, to expel anger, to warm up, and sank several inches. “Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit!” Her surroundings entered her thought process, old memories with it. Curses taken by the wind as soon as she opened her mouth, she cursed more. “I'm alone and freaking out, and this is a  _fucking blizzard!_ ” 

The wind threatened to pick her up and throw her, probably off a cliff, to a ravine full of bones and roaches. Not having a better plan, she let it push her along. At least it felt like she was heading downhill. Occasionally, an evergreen tree would appear in front of her, and she would give it a wide berth. Falling into a tree well was a danger she was familiar with from ski trips with friends. She had no idea how deep the snow was and those odd wind-carved wells that formed around mountain trees could swallow her alive.

Dying in the snow was the last way she wanted to kick it. “I will not bow,” she muttered. “I will not break.” Bitterly, she hummed one of her favorite songs.

Ahead, a shadow appeared. Yet another tree to circle. A couple of minutes, and she stopped, confused. The tree was still in front of her, and it was getting closer. One solid lump, it was not. “Not a tree!” Her heart thumped a terrified beat. Whatever animal was stalking her couldn't possibly be friendly. Predators stalked and...

Four long legs, wide back, giant rack of antlers. It looked like a rather magnificent bull elk. From it came that whistly-squawky noise she'd heard a few times hiking with her dad as a kid. She couldn't back away fast enough before its huge nose, covered with white fur and whiter snow was in touching distance. An elk, that close, was  _massive_ . She'd driven cars smaller than this beast. Its seven-point antlers were sharp, longer than her arm, and a dozen documentaries said those antlers were more than capable of ripping her open.

“Please don't kill me,” whimpered from her.

Its nose snuffled at Sydney's face. Fetid, slimy, warm, its tongue licked her. Big, dark eyes stared down at her, curious, not angry. The elk didn't disembowel her or make aggressive noises or even bite her. Shaking, she reached out with a hand to touch the nose, had it bumped into her hand, and she stroked it. The elk whistled and turned broadside, showing that it wasn't a bull, but a mare, and she wore a saddle. She tossed her head, ice-crusted reins flapping along her neck. When Sydney didn't move, the elk, or maybe giant reindeer, stepped sideways, putting the reins practically in her hand.

“It's official.” She tentatively put a hand to the saddle horn. “I'm hallucinating.”

Lots of heaving, grunting, and swearing later, she managed to mount a saddle for the first time in her life. It was surprisingly comfortable to settle into, but the way it spread her legs, that horn thrusting up between them, she couldn't shake the unsettling mental image it gave her. The enormous distance to the ground was equally unnerving. Had she mentioned that elks were _huge_?

The elk whistled, turned, and headed into the wind.

“Hey! Where are you taking me?”

The elk swiveled to look at her, snorted, but didn't stop.

“Hey! I just came from tehre! Up is bad!” Sydney flailed about for some way to stop the beast. Reins! Yank and the elk should stop right? That's how it worked with horses? But she quickly realized that she'd forgotten to gather the reins after mounting and they were now impossible to reach. She quickly gave up, throwing her hands to the sky.

“Fine. Alright. You win. Elk one, Sydney zero.” She was already hallucinating, so it was okay to admit that the elk _laughed_ at her.

While the elk turned them into the wind, she wished for a hot, sunny beach and wrapped her cloak tightly around her Miami-heat-acclimated body. For hours, they continued through the freezing winds. Only the pitiful sunlight growing even weaker was an indication that the day was over. When it was gone, it would get even colder. Her half-frozen mind could barely comprehend it.

“I'm going to die here. I'm going to die and no one will even know!” Sydney suddenly screamed at the sky. “What the hell did I do to deserve this?”

There was no reply except the elk turning its great head to blink at her and snort.

“Sorry! I amend my earlier statement. I'm going to die and only an elk will know.”

Another snort and shake of head replied.

She kept her thoughts to herself until she realized that the elk had stopped. The wind wasn't biting quite as hard, blocked by a wall of stone, and the sunlight was little more than a cool thought behind them. A shake from the beast under her encouraged her to slide out of the saddle and waddle with sore legs deeper into the wedge of rocks they were sheltering in. At her side, the elk nosed her.

“What?”

The saddle was looked at.

“I don't know how to take that thing off.”

She was stared at.

“Fine. But don't go kicking me if I can't figure it out.” Trying to ignore her aching legs and butt, she bent over to inspect the underside. “I've seen this in movies. Shouldn't be too hard, right?”

There was a buckle on the other side, and she grunted in annoyance. Around she went, and proceeded to yank, tug, and curse until the frozen thing came off and the saddle, and saddle blanket, slid away. The elk made a noise that seemed pleased.

“You're welcome.” She dropped to her knees and pried at the saddlebags' buckles. “Anything good in here?”

A nose brushing her cheek made her squirm. Hot breath steamed at her face. “Get that away from me.”

The elk groaned and nosed the bag.

“I'm working on it. Move your big head so I can see.”

It moved, but not far. Right behind her, breathing on her head, the elk hovered. Amused enough to chuckle at the insanity, she went back to struggling with the buckle. A few minutes later, she was rewarded with frozen, dried fruit that the elk instantly snatched. While it was busy chewing, she managed to stuff one into her own mouth and suck on it. There was also a bag of jerky, little canteen of harsh alcohol, a small loaf of bread, and a wedge of cheese. All frozen. Except the alcohol, well, the lid was frozen. She stuffed it all in her coat, hoping it would thaw and went after the other bag.

Decent knife, useless rock, dented pot and cup, length of rope, and a jumble of metal pieces later, she realized that there was a blanket tied to the saddle. Unrolling it revealed that it was actually two blankets. She spread one out, wrapped up in the other, and battled the canteen open. The stench of cheap grain alcohol wafted up. It burned as bad as it smelled, but it was liquid, and it helped warm her belly. Logically, she knew the warmth was a lie. Knew that it was dangerous if she drank too much, but she took another healthy swig anyway. She broke off a bit of jerky and shoved it in her mouth with another sip of alcohol.

The elk sank to its belly right beside her. Its nose prodded at the saddle blanket.

“What? You want that back on you?” She muttered around the half-thawed morsel.

Another prod. Yes.

“Sure. Let me get that for you.” She raised herself up enough that her butt complained and settled the blanket on the animal's back. “Better?”

A snort and the giant head settled to the icy stone.

She gave half a thought to the safety of it and rearranged her own blankets so she was cozied up to the elk's side. When she wasn't kicked, bitten, or gouged by antlers, she sighed and leaned on its chest. She popped more alcohol in her mouth along with another bite of jerky and resigned herself to a frigid night.

 

Stinking breath and a wet tongue sliding across her face woke her. She argued with the elk, but it insisted that she get up, figure out how to re-saddle it, and climb back up for a grueling day of aching ass and hungry stomach. The wind hadn't let up. Snow was still obliterating the world. Signs of life were nowhere to be seen. Yet the elk plodded forward, a destination set in its head, and she was along for the miserable ride.

When she remembered the food in her coat, it was the brightest part of her day. The bread, cheese, and jerky were frigid, but no longer frozen. It washed down well with the alcohol. She was hungry enough to stuff it all in her face, but held back enough for dinner and a bit for breakfast.

By evening the next day, she wished that she'd saved more. The elk agreed. That night, she went to sleep listening to not only her own, but her steed's grumbling stomach. Next day, her chafed thighs, bruised rear, and black mood completely outweighed the fact that the storm had finally finished. By the time the western horizon was a sea of orange and lavender, she wanted to kill someone, take a hot shower, suck down a dozen painkillers, eat a cow, and wash it all down with a bottle of decent brandy. In that order.

What she got instead was a shadow flying through the air at her and gouging lines of vicious fire across her leg. Pain ripped out of her as shrieks of immediate hysteria. She stared at the blood turning her thigh dark, barely registered the elk screaming too. Another shadow leapt, and she clutched frantically at the saddle horn as the elk bucked into a gallop.

Adrenaline dulled the pain enough that her brain morphed the shadows into discernible shapes. Cats. Big, giant, hungry cats were chasing them. Two. No, three. Snow flew as they ran, and Sydney remembered the knife in the saddle bag. The elk screaming, jolting, and throwing Sydney from the saddle into the snow cleared all thoughts of fighting away. The elk had fallen to her side, having tripped or slipped or something. Two of the shadows fell on her, the third stalked toward Sydney.

“Get away from me!” She scooted backward, thrusting with her good leg. The cat snarled. It was close enough that she could count its whiskers. “Get the fuck away! Go eat something else!” Frantically, she got to her feet, waved her arms wildly.

Shrill noises came from the elk, and the cat turned to look. One of its friends went flying, kicked by the elk's powerful hind leg. The elk scrambled and got her hooves underneath her again and lowered her antlers toward the remaining kitties. Sydney took a hopping step backward. The cats didn't notice, and she moved farther, then farther. Antlers swiped at a cat. It jumped away, and the other tried for the elk's flank.

Sydney turned around, and her leg gave out. Crying, she crawled. A flicker of light caught her eye, and she instinctively scrambled toward it. Behind her, the noises of battle continued. Terrified of looking back, expecting one of the cats to be only inches away, she thrust forward. The light grew closer, and she became aware that she was in a cave. Shadows flickered. Fire. There must be people here! Excited, she called out.

“Help! Someone, please! Help!”

A low, threatening snarl responded.

Quivering, Sydney slowly turned her head. Twin golden eyes flashed in the light, floated above a million sharp, dripping teeth. The giant cat took a step forward, another. Sydney crawled away, her eyes fixated on her stalking killer. It paused at the same moment her shoulder hit hard stone. Having seen it on the Discovery Channel a million times since she was a kid, she recognized the way the cat dropped its shoulders, slightly wiggled its butt. That moment of realization let her dodge its deadly leap, roll away as it crashed into stone.

It must have been stunned, because it panted and shook its head. Sydney glanced around, hoping for a rock she could pick up, bash against the cat's head. There were rocks. Lots of them. And a sword. A freaking sword sticking up out of a really big rock. The light was coming from it.

The cat sneezed, and its focus settled on her again.

She dove for the sword. Her fingers wrapped around the hilt as claws ripped open her opposite arm. As she was falling, sword somehow in hand, the cat was already turning around and sinking its teeth into her already injured leg. She whacked it with the blade.

Hissing, it released her leg. She swung again and missed when it bounced away.

 _“Call the fire,”_ whispered through the pain.

“Fire?” Her mouth asked. The cat's eyes flickered in the gloom, and she screamed.

Glaring white erupted, and the great cat yowled, jumping away from the tongue of flame. Blood dripping from its muzzle, the cat glared at her and growled. Sydney waved the sword at it, and it jumped back, hissing and snarling. Thrilled, she thrust at it, followed it as it retreated. Pained screams from the elk awakened a bit of brave loyalty in her heart.

Yelling, she hobbled after the cat and into the fading light.

 _“Your heart knows the fire now. Use it.”_ Again, the whisper in her head coaxed her.

“Fire, burn those stupid cats!” Sydney roared and cut the air with the sword. A wide arc of fire flew at the beasts. It struck one of the cats, and it howled in agony. Horrified, Sydney stared as the flames slowly, mercilessly consumed the creature, reduced it to a smoking pile while it shrieked and cried. By the time she blinked the world back into focus, the other cats were gone, and the elk was limping toward her.

She became aware of fire inside her own veins, a vicious, scalding pain radiating out from her leg. Fresh screams ripped from her throat. White flames were dancing everywhere, over her, over the elk.

_“Be calm. The flames are burning away the poison.”_

Heart walloping at her rib cage, lungs rattling away beside it, she yelled. “What the hell is going on? Who are you? _Where_ are you?”

 _“Put the sword through your belt.”_ The whisper ignored her. She wanted to yell more, to demand answers, but found herself sliding the blade under her belt, her heart slowing, and her breaths coming more easily.

The elk knelt in front of her, put the saddle at an almost easy to reach level. She noted that the flames were gone.

_“Get on.”_

Sydney draped herself over the saddle.

_“Use the rope. Tie yourself to the saddle.”_

Fumbling, she managed to yank the rope from the saddlebag and wrap it around herself and the horn. Sloppy knot later, she slumped forward.

 

 

 


	2. Madness

“ _Sister Leliana glanced at me today. I think she's going to have me killed.”_

_-Scout Harding of the Inquisition_

* * *

 

A hustle of noise drew Sister Nightingale from the report she was receiving. Wintermarch and Guardian had been busy months, and she was eager to hear and read the many weather-delayed missives. The ruckus refused to let her. Bodies were drifting toward the gates, excited noises being tossed between them. She waved aside her reporting agent and drew close to the open window. From it, she could see a figure astride a great mount with an impressive set of antlers. Once in the protective walls of Skyhold, the beast allowed hands to untie its rider from the saddle and carry them away, one of the healers in the lead.

Another refugee. Perhaps a rich, but foolhardy pilgrim. She would learn of them later through agents regularly watching the courtyards.

“What is going on?” Beside her, the agent murmured. “Are we expecting someone?”

“Not that I am aware of. Finish the report.” The noise of the courtyard was dismissed as Leliana returned to matters of import.

 

The door to the war room was open when Leliana approached it later that evening.

“Did you hear about our newest guest?” Cullen was speaking to Josephine.

“Arrived on an Acadian Hart. Very rare, these creatures.” The ambassador was audibly impressed. Quietly, Leliana noted that someone who rode one of those creatures was either extremely wealthy or a native of a land from beyond Orlais. Both options could warrant her investigation. Perhaps she shouldn't have dismissed the commotion in the courtyard as quickly as she had.

Cullen snorted. “It's her sword that I'm more interested in.”

“One of the healers nearly lost her hand simply trying to remove it from the woman's belt.” Cassandra added. “That sword will not be handled by anyone without burning them. It is either cursed or enchanted to only respond to one owner.”

“Solas says that the runes on it are power, but more he can't say.” Cullen rubbed the day-old stubble on his chin. “The blade itself is impeccable, barely shows signs of age or use. I felt,” he pursed his lips, “Something when I leaned close.”

The discussion lulled, and Leliana finally spoke. “Something, Cullen?”

“I don't know. It's not like anything I've felt before. Should you press me, which I'm sure you will, I would say I felt powerful magic.” He frowned. “The sword remains on the floor beside the woman where it dropped when the healers removed her belt and clothing.”

“I've been told that the woman was injured, by a rock tiger from the looks of her wounds.” Leliana waited for clarification.

Josephine gave it. “Indeed. The wounds on herself and her hart and the damage to her saddle were certainly rock tiger. Nothing else burns through leather in quite the same way.” Its venom, she meant. A venom so powerful and impossible to replicate that a single vial was worth more than Leliana's weight in gold. Antidotes for it existed, if one could afford the fresh dragon's blood that it required. Mostly useless though. The antidotes soured after only a few days in warm temperatures, a week or two in cold weather. Only if one traveled in frozen landscapes would it stay viable longer, yet once it was needed, getting the frozen contents out of the glass vial and into ones system before one succumbed to the fast-moving poison provided its own challenge.

Maxwell Trevelyan entered, his heavy boots scraping on the stone. “Vivienne tells me that she's not heard of anyone surviving a rock tiger's attack in a hundred years.”

“And suddenly we have one.” Leliana murmured. “Who rides a beast as rare as dragons and carries a sword that eludes even Solas? I take it no one knows who this woman is?”

Group quiet agreed.

“The healer says that she remains unconscious and doesn't know if it's from the venom or from whatever stopped it,” provided Cassandra, her features thoughtful.

“Then let's hope she awakens from her slumber soon and gives us an answer to her riddle.” Cullen said.

“Indeed.” Cassandra agreed. “Let us move on to other matters.”

 

When Leliana took to sleep that night, she had strange dreams of a faceless woman, who was tied to a post and burning alive. She did not scream as her flesh bubbled and blackened, only whispered that it took fire to forge a blade. It woke Leliana too early, before even the cooks were starting the day's bread, and she watched the sun rise across the white mountaintops. Sweat chilling on her brow, she shivered at the prophetical feel of the dream. It left her feeling on edge, as if she was about to meet the Hero of Fereldan all over again.

It disturbed her enough to write about it in her personal journal before seeking out the soldier's practice grounds and planting a garden of arrows in a straw dummy. Cassandra joined her as the sun was rising. The two friends took the rare opportunity to spar together. Bruises and grins were exchanged. Fresh fear of them was spread as they performed maneuvers that most of the army lacked the basic speed or grace for. When Leliana bowed off to attend her normal duties, Cullen decided to throw a few of his soldiers at Cassandra. Groans of despair followed Leliana's retreat.

Several days later, Leliana had mostly forgotten the mystery woman who the healers could not awaken and agents could not find information on. Leliana's concerns were focused on the usual matters and the disturbing rumors that some of the worshipers of the false Andraste were yet alive. If some had escaped the cleansing she had helped the Hero of Ferelden complete of Haven a decade ago, there could be trouble. “The Void take any who follow such nonsense,” hissed from her. Yelling from the courtyard changed her righteous anger to an annoyed groan.

At Haven, the majority of the refugees had been kept outside of the walls, along the banks of the frozen lake except for passage to the Chantry or tavern. Their noise and emergencies had been far enough to not constantly interrupt her work. But at Skyhold, where hundreds of people were stowed away in the massive fortress, with more arriving every day, she found herself dodging children and dogs and soldiers alike. Even up in her tower, she couldn't escape the noise. Maybe once all the holes and half-rotten doors and broken shutters and glass were repaired, the noise would be lessened. The Inquisition had only claimed Skyhold last autumn. It would be some time before supplies and workers could be brought up to effect proper renovations.

Andraste's tits, she couldn't concentrate! She gave up her current task and stretched. “I could use a walk anyway,” she muttered to herself.

Along the ramparts, she strolled, breathing in the free mountain air, taking in the view that the clouds weren't currently obscuring. For a rare moment, she allowed her mind to wander away from the tiring duties of being the Inquisition's spymaster. She dropped her guard.

Scalding orange fire raced by her left shoulder. She rolled away, came up with a dagger in hand, cursing her momentary lapse. Living behind stone walls had made her slow and weak. Screams from the ground hurried up to her. There was a battle, soldiers and mages fighting a small band that was staying safe behind some sort of barrier while demons and magic rained down on them.

“You!” A voice laced with hatred screamed from a man in Chantry robes under the barrier. No. Not Chantry robes. They were … _wrong._ Oh no. He pointed a gnarled, blackened staff at Leliana. “You were there with him! You helped destroy Andraste! You will pay, heretic!”

More mage-fire shot at her, and she was running, cursing the former residents of Haven, wishing the dragon had simply eaten them instead of letting them worship it and play caretaker to its offspring. She sprinted for her rooms where her bow and a small quiver of enchanted arrows were stowed. Still orange, but even hotter, mage-fire blocked her path. Stone along the wall melted, and her eyebrows sizzled. The deranged man was still screaming at her. She whirled to take another path, but a gust of frozen air pushed her back. Tripping, she fell hard on an elbow, lost her dagger.

A shimmering barrier went up between her and the dragon worshipers. Their magics raged against it. Within a few breaths, the barrier was down, but it had been enough time for Leliana to regain her feet and start running. Falling stone had her skidding to a stop, forced her to leap to the stairs. She hit them at a bad angle and twisted her ankle. Her knees crashed to stone. The scale reinforcement on her tall boots kept them from injury, but the pain in her ankle disoriented her enough that she almost fell off the stairs' open-air side. When she shook her head free of stars, a hand was reaching down to help.

Not recognizing the woman behind the hand, barely noticing the bedclothes she was in, Leliana was simply grateful for the support. A hand steadying her on one side, she grabbed at the stone wall for leverage and limped up the stairs. The harsh shadow of the other woman was all the warning she got that another fireball was upon them. It melted the stairs in front of her and seared the delicate skin of her face and scorched her leathers. Luckily, her torso was protected by dragonscale instead of chainmail or she might be trying to rip it off in a panic.

“Hey, asshole!” From beside her, the woman shouted down to where the cultists' barrier was still repelling all magical and physical attacks. Leliana noticed that the stairs below her were melted as well. There was a curve to the melt, as though it had been funneled around a shield. Only the woman and empty air had been between Leliana and the man. What had happened? Was the woman a mage?

Why was the entire courtyard staring up at them? Leliana blinked up at the woman, finally noticed the sword she carried, the glowing white runes along the center of its blade.

“You call that fire?” Tongues of white flame erupted from the blade, licked hungrily at the air. “Don't make Andraste laugh.” She flicked her arm, and the white fire sliced an arc through the air, smashed against the barrier. It flickered on the shimmering field.

The cultists started laughing. Murmurs of fear swept across the courtyard, morale crushed by the deranged, unstoppable power. More than one voice wished that the Herald was there to protect them. Leliana found herself echoing it. Who was this woman to invoke the name of Andraste and...

Across the barrier, the white fire was spreading, licking and jumping and _consuming_ it. She blinked, and the fire was gone, as was the barrier. The woman drew her sword across the air again, sending more white flames arcing at the invaders. Screams went up as the fire landed. Victory shouts followed on the fletching of arrows and the boots of advancing soldiers. The Inquisitions' forces sliced into the cultists, and the mystery woman began to fall forward.

“No!” Leliana jumped to wrap arms around the limp body, keep her from falling over the edge, to the courtyard far below. Together, they crashed to the stairs, Leliana's arm and hip taking the bruising impact. She grimaced, but kept her wit and checked for the woman's breath. It whispered from between cracked lips. Leliana sighed in relief and inspected the rest of the woman. She seemed unharmed, yet bright red blood had soaked through her clothes on her thigh and sword arm.

“You're her. The hart rider.” Aware of who was in her lap, she looked for the sword, found it buried in the courtyard's paving stones, its hilt swaying lightly, throwing the light of the waning battle at her. The runes were dark, the white flames vanished.

“Lady Nightingale!” Voices drew near. “Are you alright?”

“Who is she?”

“What happened?”  
“Is she alive?”

“Did Andraste send her?”

Leliana's throat choked on the last one. Her dream from the other night came back to her. Was this woman another hero for Thedas? Coughing, she managed to speak. “She is asleep. Help me get her back to the healers.”

People carefully navigated the melted gap in the stairs, bundled the woman to a stretcher and carried her off. More helped Leliana across. A healer was inspecting her ankle and burns before she could push her away. “Sister, you cannot help the Inquisition if you are not healthy. Let me care for your wounds. Burns fester easily.”

Her concern for her duties used against her, the spymaster swallowed the potion handed her, endured the wrapping of her ankle and allowed healing magic to soothe her burns. “Send word that the sword in the courtyard is not to be touched,” was demanded of a nearby soldier. “And tell Cullen that guards should be posted outside the woman's room.”

It was obvious who she meant, and the soldier simply nodded before running with the orders. A crutch appeared, and the healer narrowed her eyes sternly at her infamous patient. “Give your ankle a few days. Use this.”

Leliana vaguely nodded, her mind already on other matters, of how recent events would affect the Inquisition. Distantly, she noted the healer huffing as she turned away. Keeping in mind the need to heal, Leliana did obey and used the crutch as she hobbled toward a familiar face. “I want full reports by sunrise.”

Her agent bowed and vanished. Curious, wanting nothing more than to find this mystery woman's room and knowing she would soon have information on how the cultists had managed to invade Skyhold, she maneuvered her way to it. Along the way, she used her shadowed face and steely blue eyes to ward away people with questions. Once, she would have offered words of comfort, spoken lines of the Chant, sung of hope and light. Her days as a lay sister were far behind her. When she had taken on the job of the Left Hand of the Divine, she'd made a point to gather a reputation around her. It continued now, as the Inquisition's spymaster. She was to be a ghost, an ear in the shadows, a blade in the dark.

Outside of the room, she was pleased to note that the healers had a guard. He nodded her in. As the door tapped shut, she paused at the scene before her. Fresh bandages, already tainted red, were being wrapped around a thigh. The healer gave her a glance, noted who she was, and went back to work. Leliana sank into the room's only chair and studied the woman. She appeared young, no older than Leliana herself. That thought made her snort. She'd ceased to think of herself as young a long time ago.

Bloodied feet were the healer's next target. The wounds were angrily red and must have happened between room and Leliana. She found her eyes traveling up the legs, noting their soft edges, smooth complexion, and deep summer tan. Whoever this woman was, she was not a local, and she was not a warrior. Not only did she lack a veteran's battle scars, but the hard musculature of one. Where had she come from to have tan lines of such contrast? The beaches of Rivain?

“You may find this of interest, Lady Nightingale.” Quietly, the healer's voice drew her to the flesh above the woman's hip. From her hip, along her side, to the underside of a breast, there was intricate ink. Vivid greens and blues and deep blacks scrolled around flowers in shades of orange and pink and red so perfect that they looked real. “Have you ever seen a tattoo like this?”

“I have not.” Nor had she heard of artistry of this caliber. The time this would have taken was beyond her imagining. It was impressive, yet the intensity of the colors and the smoothness of the lines were what impressed her more. She didn't know where to find this kind of art, but she knew it must have cost a fortune. Whoever could afford that was bound to be known by someone. Crossing her arms and leaning back, she closed her eyes to consider where to begin her inquiries.

 

 

 


	3. It's Magic

“ _I have journeyed deep in the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see the dreams of lost civilizations. I've watched as hosts of spirits clashed to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten. Every great war has its heroes. I'm just curious what kind you'll be.”_

_-Solas, mage of the Inquisition_

* * *

 

 

Creaking as the door opened and allowed an armored Cullen into the room woke Leliana. Sitting up, a blanket sliding off her shoulders, she rubbed at her eyes and cringed at swollen bruises. Drawing a bowstring would hurt like a deepstalker bite for days.

“I'm sorry for waking you.” He took a seat next to her at the little table, the firelight making shadows along his tired face. When had another chair been brought in? She scowled at her vulnerability, at how she'd fallen asleep in public.

“It's quite alright.”

“Someone will be up with a meal shortly. I requested to take mine here with you.” He glanced at the third occupant of the room. “And with her if she wakes up.”

In the back of Leliana's mind, she wondered when her last meal had been. Probably yesterday. Eating was never at the top of her list of things to do. She knew it showed in her sharp cheekbones and thin fingers, but she didn't care. Protecting the Inquisition and fighting Corypheus with everything possible was far more important than her once cushioned visage.

“What news,” she asked.

“We have a few melted stones to replace, thirteen bodies to bury, and a lot of dust.”

“Dust?”

He was staring at the sleeping woman. “Her fire burned four of those people to ash.” Haunted, he switched to her. “Their screams... Not that they didn't deserve it, but I'd rather not have had to listen to them.”

Memories of the Circle tower during the Blight, its walls full of blood, smoke, and abominations came to mind. She was honestly amazed at the honorable man that Cullen was. He should have been a raving mage-killer after his experience there, as he would have been had that mage barrier not kept him imprisoned until the Tower was demon free.

“They say you spoke to her.”

“No.” Shaking her head, she recalled the more recent past. “She burned away the barrier and collapsed. I caught her before she fell.”

Cullen's brow pinched. “Do you know how she deflected that fire? The mages are clamoring to know what kind of magic she wields.”

Deflected? The melted stairs flashed in her mind's eye. “I saw only the sword. Its runes were glowing before the white fire appeared.”

“The sword,” was hummed. “They're calling it Andraste's Fire.”

Immediately, she was thinking of how this could impact them, the Inquisitor, their power in the region. “We can use this. More favor from Andraste on the Inquisition.” Was it truly her favor? Her assistance?

Light knocking on the door drew Cullen to open it. He took a tray from a pair of hands and pushed the door shut with a boot. Steam followed him and the tray as he set in on the little table. Stew, rolls, a pot of butter. Even honey was there. Ladling out portions, he glanced at a noise from the bed.

“Smells good,” snuffed a hoarse voice. Leliana's quick hands caught the bowl before it fell from Cullen's surprised movement.

He dove to the woman's side to help her sit up, but she shrank away. “My apologies. You have nothing to fear from me. I am Commander Cullen.” The woman's narrowed eyes looked him over, widened when they saw Leliana. Cullen followed her gaze, raised an eyebrow. Without expression, Leliana stared back. Swiftly, he returned to the table. “You must be parched.” He poured water into a wooden cup, offered it. Light brown eyes shifted back to him and accepted the cup thirstily. Water spilled around the cup's edges, dripped down a narrow chin.

The cup was held to her chest as the stranger breathed through what looked to be a bout of pain. Carefully, Cullen retrieved the cup. He and Leliana watched as the woman's hand gingerly explored the fresh bandages on her arm, then moved under the bed to her thigh. Her eyelids, that had closed, flew open. “How's my elk?”

“Elk?” Cullen clarified, “You mean the Acadian Hart you rode in on?”

Color flushed her cheeks. “Acadian. Okay, yea. How is she?”

“She's fine. Dennet says her wounds are healing nicely, and her spirit is good.”

How could the woman not know what to call her mount? She couldn't possibly have stumbled across the creature. Wild, they were impossible to tame. Domesticated ones were never lost, trained to always return to their masters. Watching those eyes slide toward her again, Leliana found too many questions piling up. “Who are you?”

Time passed, and it spoke volumes. With every heartbeat, it spoke of fear, intelligence, secrets, and knowledge. Her gaze was steady when she answered. “My name is Sydney. Who are you?”

“Sister Nightingale,” was her suitably friendly reply. But the woman didn't like that answer, not in the way her lips pressed together.

“Are you hungry?” Cullen asked. At her bright agreement, he offered one of the bowls. “Careful. It's quite hot.” The contents were spooned up, blown on, and stuffed in Sydney's mouth.

Leliana didn't bother hiding her study of Sydney. Was she that concerned with a meal that she did not wish to know where she was? Did she not think to ask? Did she care?

Swallowing another bite, Sydney frowned. “Aren't you hungry?” She eyed Leliana's untouched bowl. Her spoon lowered, suspicion gathering around her eyes.

“Eat.” Cullen pushed it closer, spooned food into his own mouth rather overtly. Her fellow advisers hadn't made issue of her poor diet, but they had noticed it. Josephine had asked recently if Ferelden food was starting to disagree with her. The man beside her gave her bowl another nudge.

She took the hint. Digging in, her stomach informed her that, yes, it had been far too long since its last meal. Perhaps that morning. Yesterday? Driven by its cravings, she scraped every last drop with a roll, then buttered another and enjoyed its rich texture. Through the meal, a casual atmosphere had gathered between them. The softness of it reminded Leliana of her manners. Contrite, she caught Sydney's eye.

“Thank you.”

Chewing paused.

“For saving my life today. It was rather generous of you, no?” It felt strange on her face after long disuse, but she tried a smile.

Slowly, the bite in Sydney's mouth was finished. “You're welcome. What happened after I passed out? Where's the sword?”

Not  _my sword_ , but  _the sword_ . Interesting.

“Without that shield of theirs, we made quick work of the invaders. Your sword is waiting in the courtyard.” Cullen informed her. “I should thank you as well. Our mages have told me that without you, they might not have gotten the shield down before those apostates did real damage.”

“I'm glad, and you're welcome too.” She picked at a thumbnail. “Where am I?”

Cullen shifted in his chair. “Skyhold, headquarters of the Inquisition.”

Her hands trembled, and she set her bowl in her lap, fingers clenched around it. “I see.” Abruptly, she shrugged. “What happens to me now?”

The two Inquisition leaders exchanged glances. Cullen answered. “That depends. What do you want to happen?”

 

What did she want? That was easy enough. To wake up in her own bed, listen to the air conditioning hum, and open a can of Pepsi. Sydney frowned at the bowl in her hands, wondering for the umpteenth time if she was having a nightmare. Or maybe just going crazy. The woman in the room looked and sounded just like... Well, not _exactly_ , but close. Breathtakingly close.

 _Again_ , her eyes swept over a diamond-shaped face with skin so perfectly clear of blemishes and lines, that the lone scar on the left cheek seemed blasphemous. Framing it was deep orange, almost red hair, trimmed short enough to dust her chin. There was a narrow nose and just below it, lips that looked perfect for smiling, kissing, or laughing. Smoky black was smudged around eyes the intense blue of thick ice. They were just as cold too.

Everything about this woman screamed, “I can kill you with my pinky, and I won't blink doing it.” She was nothing like the friendly video game character who Sydney'd had a mild crush on since playing _Dragon Age: Origins_ for the first time a few years ago. And she was _exactly_ like the ruthless spymaster of _Inquisition_ that she'd started playing last week.

Leliana. The woman didn't exist. The only real part about her was the voice given by an actress.

Then again, super-smart elk, swords that spewed fire, and people who could conjure fireballs didn't exist either. If she could listen and obey an ethereal voice telling her to take a magic sword and protect a stranger instead of staying in bed like a good injured girl, then she could accept video games being real. Even if that meant said voice belonged to a dead woman named Andraste. Right?

“I realize that it's a difficult question, but you came to us, not the other way around.” Calm, composed, Leliana's voice was a lot softer than the sharp stare she was pinning Sydney with. The soft lilt to her words was absolutely French though. Orlesian. Whatever.

“Sorry.” Question. What was the question? Shit. What happens next, that's right. Cullen had given her the opportunity to explain what she wanted. “I'm gathering my thoughts.” Good play to stall for time! What could she want in the world of Thedas where a madman was trying to become a god and ripping apart the curtain that kept the Fade from raining demons on the world? Other than to run away screaming?

“To know why I was sent here.” Maybe not the best thing to say. It was the only thing she could get to come out though.

Leliana's eyes narrowed, but it was Cullen who leaned forward and asked, “Who sent you?”

Whoever sent the elk, obviously. That damn ghost voice, probably. Andraste. Telling them that didn't feel like such an awesome idea. The Inquisition already had one emissary from their goddess-prophet-person. “I'm not sure.”

“Was it Andraste?” Low, a deferential whisper came from Cullen. His whole body was leaning forward, desperation to hear her response obvious. Beside him, though Leliana was perfectly still and calm, tension practically radiated from her.

“Only Andraste can answer that,” seemed safe enough.

Something snapped and clattered on the floor beside the spymaster's boot. Half of a spoon. “Tell us about your sword.”

Heart galloping at the madness in blue eyes, Sydney's thoughts went giddy. Found the sword in a cave, fought some big kitties with it, killed one with magic fire, freaked out when it lit _her_ on fire and a voice told her to be calm, that the fire was cleansing the poison in her blood. “It's magic,” finally spit out.

Grunting, Cullen gestured with a hand. “We found that obvious.”

“It's about all I know.” That was true. “I can tell the flames what to do, and they do it. Other than that, I honestly don't know where it's from, who made it or why.” Desperate, she put on a smile. “It's useful. With it, I could help the Inquisition. I could just use a little training.” What was she saying? Was she planning to stick around? Had someone slipped her some bad drugs, because her mouth was being an idiot.

“Training?”  
Should've played off being a lost traveler until she got her bearings. Shit. Twisting the bowl around, she shrugged. “The flames I can handle, the sword itself, not so much. Fighting isn't something I've had a lot of experience at.” Not outside of video games, at least. Breaking up bar fights didn't count, they rarely involved knives, sometimes guns, but never swords or magic or arrows or darkspawn or... Oh man. Was the Inquisition still fighting Corypheus? Where in the story was she? Did it even need more raw recruits?

“The Inquisition can handle training another new recruit, especially one who has already proven herself useful.” Cullen welcomed her, and Leliana appeared to as well, yet the smile she gave looked forced and not at all welcoming.

 

In the war room, the four leaders discussed the events of two days ago with a freshly returned and bathed Maxwell Trevelyan. He looked annoyed. On a personal note, Leliana wasn't much fond of the newly dubbed Inquisitor. Where she wanted him to be the messenger sent from Andraste, standing for justice and peace, he merely sought to close the rifts and unite Thedas through brute force. He cared little for diplomacy, for subtlety and tact. His response to the problems festering in Thedas was expecting them to solve themselves because he walked through the door, and if that failed, beat them into submission. To him, templars and mages were bickering siblings. Perhaps they were, but he wanted to slap them and tell them to get along or get out.

That would never happen. Templars were a balance to mages' power. They were created precisely to pay attention to what mages did and protect the world from abominations and power-thirsty mages. How they'd gone about it in Ferelden and Kirkwall and elsewhere could have been better handled, surely. Leliana wanted the Inquisitor to help find a better way. That was his job. To restore balance. Right now, he was acting like a spoiled brat himself. The man was positively whining that he hadn't been around to protect Skyhold  _and_ it had been damaged further in his absence.

“There is no way to know if your being here could have helped. Your attitude is not helping decide how to proceed in this matter, Inquisitor.” Leliana lost her temper. “Quit whining about could haves and get on with thinking of what might yet be!”

Around the table, eyes stared in surprise. It had been weeks since Leliana had last spoken in a pitch above conversational. Never had she outright yelled or given Trevelyan a direct order.

Bringing her voice back under control, she went on. “Sydney has asked to join the Inquisition and be trained to fight. I believe that she can be of great use. We need recruits, especially those with extraordinary skills. Cullen has given a similar argument, and Cassandra agrees. Josephine does not. What do you say?”

“I've heard that some of the people think she was sent by Andraste as well. What does she say about it?” He replied, not quite pouting. Andraste's breath, the man was too young. Twenty-three were not enough years to be leader of the Inquisition. The Warden, she paused in thought. Trevelyan was older than Aedan Cousland had been. Older than Leliana had been when she joined the Wardens on their journey. No. It wasn't his lack of years. It was his lack of experience. He had yet to be shaped into a man.

_It takes fire to forge a blade._ Ghostly, the dream whispered in her mind. Could it have been talking about Trevelyan? What would it take to forge him into the Inquisitor they needed? Blast it! If only the Champion, Marian Hawke, hadn't disappeared before Leliana and Cassandra could recruit her. She would have made a fine leader for the Inquisition.

Cullen answered when she remained silent. “Sydney said only Andraste can answer that, but she would follow you.”

Trevelyan looked to their spymaster. “If she hadn't saved your life, would you trust her?”

Did she trust her? To a degree. “She saved more than my life. That barrier confounded our best mages. I trust that she will fight when she feels threatened, and she feels very threatened by selfish abusers of power.” She held her breath, not having meant to speak that double entendre.

Josephine's eyes widened slightly. Creases formed on Cullen's brow, and Cassandra's jaw twitched. They looked to their Inquisitor. He sighed. “Fine. It's better to have her on our side than flailing around the countryside by herself.”

Not even a blink. The foolish boy. Despite wanting to rub his face in his obliviousness, Leliana managed not to roll her eyes.

“I know Cullen has his hands full with the troops and Cassandra is usually with me, perhaps you should train her.” Looking at Leliana, Trevelyan announced. “After all, if she  _is_ sent from Andraste, who better than a Sister to guide her along the way?”

Her initial anger at his notion that she didn't have as much on her plate as Cullen was smoothed over by the ounce of guile in his words. Sydney was full of secrets that Leliana wanted to know and understand and exploit if necessary. Training her could be the catalyst that Leliana needed to get those secrets. Having this second prophet from Andraste kept close to the Inquisitor by being under Sister Nightingale's tutelage was a smart move. She saw that Josephine agreed. “Very well.”

Later, Leliana made a point to tell Josephine to step up Trevelyan's training in politics. The ambassador had readily agreed, but lamented at his lack of attention. “If I can get him to sit still for them _and_ listen. He shouldn't have missed what was obvious even to Cullen.”

 


	4. Andraste's Messenger

“ _Tell me. Where is your Maker now? Call him. Call down his wrath upon me. You cannot, for he does not exist.”_

_-Corypheus, The Elder One, sentient darkspawn_

* * *

 

“Andraste's tits!” Leliana spat Oghren's favorite curse as she noted that she'd spent over a candlemark looking for Sydney without any luck. Looking down at the courtyard from an upper level window, she growled. Skyhold was full of her eyes and ears and nosy little kids. Not one them knew where exactly to find the woman. It had been three days since the decision to train Sydney, and her healers had finally approved her wounds as healed enough to do so. But now the woman was nowhere to be found!

“I heard you're looking for me.” A voice from right beneath her spoke.

“Maker!” Leliana was in a crouch, dagger in hand before she figured out where the voice had come from. Fur materialized, a hat lining a tanned face and light eyes. They peered in from the other side of the window.

“My bad. I thought you saw me.” Sydney looked ready to run. Her tension eased when Leliana stowed her dagger. Leaning out the window, she could see how Sydney had been sitting in a sort of natural balcony. This section of Skyhold had been carved right out of the mountain. The original folds of the stone had created a safe little area with a mostly flat bottom, raised edges, and an overhang to protect from the elements. Difficult to be seen from below. A beautiful archer's nest or spy's lookout big enough to hold four people.

On a whim, Leliana clambered out and joined Sydney. The view was better, though windier. From where they were, there was a perfect line of sight with the sword that remained embedded in the courtyard stones. “Why have you left it there?”

Sydney looked at her, the sword, her. As always, there was something in her eyes that Leliana couldn't place. It felt odd, but not uncomfortable. Much like her unusual accent. Where in Thedas was she from? “It scares me.”

“Why?”

“I didn't know what it could do.” She tugged at a climbing vine, loosed its hold on the stone. “I mean, I did, but didn't. And,” she stopped, didn't explain further, only tugged on the vine until it dropped from her hand.

“How many winters do you have?”

Wrinkles formed in Sydney's brow, cleared as her mouth rounded like a wheel. “Twenty-eight.” Frowning, she brandished a brown leaf like a knife. “And you?”

Her birthday was tomorrow, not that she would tell her. It was unimportant, and she expected no one to celebrate it, even if they had somehow learned of its date. In fact, tomorrow was, “Sunday.”

Sydney leaned back. “What?”

Maker, what had caught her tongue? “Tomorrow is Sunday. If I survive it, this will be my thirty-first year.” Growing horror burned in her. Please, Maker, don't let this woman catch on, she prayed.

Luckily, Sydney's attention went back to the sword. “Do people around here celebrate their birthdays?”

“Usually.”

“Every year survived is something to celebrate. And hope for the next year would be the best gift, wouldn't it?” Sydney asked quietly.

Once upon a time, Leliana would have scoffed and said a pair of pretty shoes was. A month ago, she simply would have scoffed. Today, listening to this foreign woman’s words, spoken in her sophisticated yet almost bumpkin tones, struck a chord in Leliana. “Perhaps.”

Wind blew across them, promising snow with its icy edges. “The other day, when Skyhold was attacked, her voice woke me up and told me where to find you.”

Her? Leliana focused pointed attention on Sydney, whose eyes lifted back to meet it.

“They were the first people I've ever killed, and I did it with her sword.”

“Whose sword?” She whispered, her throat dry.

It helped, in a strange way, that Sydney looked as nervous as Leliana felt. “She said she sent you another message to help you understand.”

Breath and thoughts were too hard to accomplish at the same time. Leliana stared and choked and felt a hand rubbing her back, a voice in her ear telling her to breathe. In. Hold it. Out. Good girl. Again. In. Hold it. Out.

“Great, Leliana. Breathe with me. In. Hold it. Out.” Following Sydney's voice, she felt her heart slow down, her vision clear. “I'm so sorry.” Another hand was on her stomach. She was being held. “I shouldn't have thrown that at you while sitting on the edge of a roof.” Slowly, her brain in a stupor, she put the pieces together. Andraste had sent the dream, had sent Sydney, who was holding her, protecting her from falling off the roof while she coaxed Leliana to breathe properly again.

Maker, was this real? Leaning into the woman was relaxing. Nice. Too nice. She jerked away. The hands remained, though they didn't pull her back to that alluringly warm frame.

“Do you think I could get a scabbard for the sword?” Sydney's question, mundane as it was, restored Leliana's thoughts.

“Of course.” She moved away from the edge, got her feet under her while her protector hovered, but didn't interfere. Appreciating both gestures and equally unnerved by them, she moved to the window and slipped back inside. “Ask the quartermaster. You're to receive a purse each month, so do not worry over the gold.”

Nodding, Sydney reached back out and re-shuttered the window behind them.

“I should be going.” Leliana made to leave.

“Hey, uh.” Made her stop. “You were looking for me for something.”

Yes. She had been. “Meet me at dawn on the eastern ramparts. I will be training you on how to wield a blade.”

“But...”

“Until tomorrow.” Leliana struggled with her legs to walk, not sprint, away.

 

Waiting in the falling snow that muffled all but the closest of sounds, Leliana stamped her feet in an attempt to stay awake and warm despite her huge yawns. Another's approach was heralded only by her shadow. Fright still fresh from the cultist's attack, Leliana attacked before her brain caught up with her hand. It stopped the blade at Sydney's throat.

“Good morning, teacher.” The woman choked. “We're jumping right into it, huh?”

“Yes,” was her easy lie to cover her embarrassment. The steel was exchanged for wood. “Dodge.”

Surprisingly, though clumsy and slow compared to Leliana, Sydney showed signs of previous training. The most basic of training, as a tavern owner or traveling merchant might know. Leliana pressed, forcing Sydney to weave and bend or be stabbed by the wooden dagger, her goal: to see the extent of her endurance and ability to cope. Soon enough, it became a challenge for Leliana to not seriously injure her. When irritation growled in her chest, she paused, allowing Sydney a short break.

The role of teacher was a new one for her. She began to turn the idea of the challenge in her head. Teaching Sydney could help strengthen her own skills dulled by life behind walls. Sunlight glared off snow and ice, reminded her of the moment. Her pupil was no longer breathing hard. Leliana frowned at herself. Finding calm had taken too long.

“Again.” Leliana thrust her dagger, but instead of Sydney attempting to dodge it, she grabbed her wrist, twisted, and threw her over her shoulder. The movement was so unexpected and novel that it caught her completely off guard. She landed in an explosion of snow.

“Sorry,” clearly not sorry and slightly smug. “I know you said to dodge, but I'm sick of getting bruised.”

Stone beneath her feet once more, Leliana frowned. “You already have some training. Tell me about it.”

There was a hesitation. “Self-defense classes when I was younger. Mom and I took 'em to protect ourselves from the idiots we dealt with everyday, you know.” A lift of shoulders. “Well, you wouldn't know, but whatever. Swords and arrows aren't what I know how to fight. Assholes and drunks, yes. Soldiers, no.”

This was interesting information, and Leliana considered it. She watched a fat snowflake land on Sydney's slightly pointed nose. A hands-breadth worth of snow had fallen since their arrival. It had piled on their heads and shoulders and was weighing everything down. She wanted to teach basics, not work in slippery snow. Now, she needed to learn and reassess what her pupil already knew.

Doing that over hot tea was preferable to this white mess. “Come. Let us take this inside. Have you broken your fast?”

Relief glowed from her student. “Not yet.”

From the kitchen, a plate of fried ham and potatoes and buttered toast was acquired. Sitting at a corner table, Leliana set two mugs of tea down. She sipped at her own and crunched on the single piece of toast she'd picked up. A frowning Sydney asked, “Did you eat before training?”

“No.”

Frowning deeper, “You going to have breakfast with someone else?”

Perturbed, Leliana frowned as well. “No. This is enough.”

“A big lunch or something?”

Lunch was unlikely. Dinner was a meal she ate fairly regularly. She changed the subject. “Tell me about this self-defense class.”

By the time Sydney finished detailing the month long instruction, it had reaffirmed that she wouldn't survive thirty seconds on a battlefield. Ready to get on with her day, Leliana told her to meet again the next morning in the eastern tower that hadn't been renovated yet. It would be dusty and full of obstacles, but not snow. She spent the rest of her birthday going over reports. The sun was well down, and a bowl of squash soup lay half-empty on her desk when Sydney appeared. Her hands were behind her back.

“Cassandra said that you like apples,” spoken quietly, she grimaced under the attention of a dozen birds.

How long had it been since she'd eaten one? Last autumn? “Yes. Why?”

Slowly, the arms drew around to her front, a small basket in one hand. It was covered by a cloth. “I bribed one of the cooks to bake some apple tarts. I won't be offended if they aren't any good, but the cook seemed to like his creation.” The basket was uncovered and set on an empty swatch of desk. Warm, sugary cinnamon wafted up from three palm-sized tarts. “Happy um birthday, Leliana. May your next year be,” she swallowed, “Blessed.”

A breath later, she made a funny bob with her shoulders and turned around. Alone with the tarts, Leliana dropped heavily into her chair. Without thinking, a tart appeared in her hand, rose to her mouth. Her teeth sank into the pastry and sugar raced across her tongue. Gooey, cinnamony apple innards gushed, and she moaned into the mouthful. Maker's breath!

It was delicious, and she sucked every crumb from her finger. The other two stared at her. By the time she was done with them, tears were streaming down her cheeks. For the first time since the death of her friend and mentor Justinia, she allowed herself to truly cry, to mourn her death, and the deaths of other friends and hopes and dreams. When her last sobs had been wiped away on an apple-scented cloth, the hole that had been growing inside for the past months seemed plugged.

There was still a hollowness, a place ripped out by the events that Corypheus had set in motion, yet beside it was the warmth of a thoughtful gift. Atop that warmth sat a tender glint of hope. Andraste _had_ sent a messenger. To Leliana, it wasn't the Inquisitor, but a woman who wielded a sword of fire.

And pastries! Her fingers twitched. She rummaged through the stacks of reports until she found a blank vellum. For the first time in months, she began to compose a song.

 


	5. Blackmail

 

“ _Whatever you do, don't tell Varric.”_

_-Seeker Cassandra Pentaghast_

* * *

 

Next morning, Leliana began softly with, “They were lovely. Thank you.”

Sydney responded with a beaming smile that she found highly distracting. “You're welcome.”

Training with Sydney fell into a routine that Leliana began to enjoy. They would meet, work up a sweat, and break their fast together. Sometimes, they would encounter each other during the day, but not often. Sydney found the library along with additional tutors, and she spent a good deal of time with the Acadian Hart mare she called Epona. They didn't speak of Andraste, nor the sword that remained in the stone.

On the morning of the eighth day, Leliana scowled at the sword shining in the dawn light. Eventually, the woman would need to draw it. She also needed a teacher who was good with a blade that size. It wasn't quite a hand and a half, but it was still outside of Leliana's skill set. Resolved to speak to Cullen about it, she handed Sydney a wooden dagger and taught her to attack. Half a candlemark later, she yawned and earned a hard thrust to her ribs.

Expecting Sydney to crow in victory, what she saw instead was a frown. Leliana hid her own scowl behind a cool facade. “Very good. Again.”

Through the rest of training, Leliana fought her own waning concentration. She nearly fell asleep in her breakfast tea and did fall prey to a nap in the afternoon. Irritably, she wiped drool from a report when Cullen woke her up. “You asked to see me?”

“Sydney needs someone to teach her swordplay. I cannot do more than show her how to defend against a sword.” Leliana dove into it.

“Is that why she won't retrieve her weapon?”

She skirted the question. “I'm not sure.”

“I'll take the task on myself.” He surprised her by volunteering himself instead of suggesting that Sydney join the lower ranks in their daily practices. The Inquisition's general didn't have time to tutor or train individual soldiers. Candlelight flickered in his light brown eyes, and they seemed younger than usual. “I heard that she gave you a birthday gift.”

One of her people? No. A cook, probably. Maybe Cassandra. Her flare of anger puffed out, was replaced by a yawn.

“I want to get to know the woman who pried a secret out of our spymaster.” He smiled at her, but it faded. “Do you believe she was sent by Andraste?”

“I had a vision that I've told no one about, and she knew of it.” She watched his eyelids shoot apart. “So, yes. I believe Andraste sent her.”

Breathless, he leaned close. “Sent her for what?”

So far, it seemed that it was to protect her, but that utterly selfish idea was ludicrous. “I do not know.”

 

After another yawning session, Leliana stared into tea that wasn't waking her up. It was pushed from her hand by a full plate of food. Another was before Sydney, who scooped up a forkful of eggs. “Eat.”

The scent was appetizing. She poked a potato into her mouth. Two more. Reports indicated that potatoes in eastern Ferelden were...

“You don't eat enough.”

“I'm fine,” was the automatic response.

“You're too thin and you don't have the energy you should. You don't eat enough.” Sydney repeated. “Open mouth, insert food. Chew. Swallow. Repeat.”

“Maker's breath, who do you think you are?” She curled her upper lip.

A fork, laden with a chunk of ham was shoved at her face. “The woman who needs her teacher to be healthy enough to fulfill her duties,” came the unrelenting reply. “Eat.”

Teeth firmly clamped, Leliana glared at her.

“Eat, or I involve Varric.”

That was a threat that Leliana found, well, threatening. The dwarf writer and crossbowman was devious and well-connected. He wouldn't dare cross her openly, but he would delve into mischief, make her life troublesome. How Sydney, who couldn't possibly have spent much time with Varric, would potentially get him to help her was intriguing enough that Leliana almost forced her hand simply to see what would happen. People were staring. She opened her mouth.

“I look forward to the rumors about us now.” She wrapped her lips around the fork, took the ham, and was rewarded by Sydney blushing, a rather attractive glow on her square cheeks. There was a core of tenacious willpower in Sydney, and Leliana found it highly appealing. Coupled with that smile of hers, and... Hurriedly, she found something else to think about. Her agents had yet to find any information on the woman, her steed or sword. It was as though she'd fallen out of the sky. Her bite was finished, and she shoved more ham into her mouth before Sydney noticed. She could feed herself, dammit.

After dusk, one of the usual kitchen drudges brought Leliana a meal. Some time later, when it remained untouched, the drudge returned and spoke quietly, nervously. “The Lady Sydney has asked us to report to her if you are not eating your meals, Sister. She sent me to remind you of your breakfast discussion.”

There were indeed rumors about their relationship, especially after Leliana began sitting down immediately when dinner arrived. From desperately kinky to hopelessly romantic. Some were even ridiculous enough to make her smile. For each one, Leliana pushed Sydney harder in training, forced her into the most brutal exercises she could, demanded perfection and obedience in everything. When Leliana noticed her own exhaustion lessening, her concentration easier to come by, she privately acknowledged Sydney's wisdom in regular meals. And before she would allow the woman to start training with Cullen, she demanded that Sydney get her sword.

It was on her hip the next day, and the song that Leliana was writing received another verse.

 

Sitting on her favorite perch overlooking the courtyard, Sydney played with fire. Across her lap was the sword, and in her left hand was a dancing flame. As she had learned more about dancing with the blade itself, she'd realized that she needed practice with the fire too. As the voice had told her, her heart knew the fire. Commanding it was easy, controlling it was another matter. There were different degrees of size, literally degrees of temperature, and shapes that the flames could reach.

What was hardest was the exhaustion that using them brought on. Small flames, like the one in her hand, she couldn't even hold for more than twenty minutes. That seemed like a long time until she considered having to use it in say, a dungeon full of giant spiders. It was a pet peeve of hers that a lot of video games and movies and TV shows had these brightly lit caves, underground passages, and midnight forests. She understood it was for visual purposes, that the audience needed to see the action, but it was still wrong.

The dark was _dark._ There were few things more terrifying than looking out from a ship in the middle of the ocean during a storm and seeing nothing but endless darkness. Even worse if the engines failed, killing the lights. Being thrown into _that_ kind of darkness with a few thousand terrified, idiotic passengers was beyond words. Three teeth. Her dentist had to put caps on three of her teeth because some moron had lost their shit during that vicious little squall.

She let the flame go out and watched children chase a dog. It made her smile. Some things were the same, no matter where you were. Children played, dogs barked, the sun rose and set. It helped to see little moments of similarity after a long day where social cues were missed, language nuances didn't click, or well-known facts were unknown to her.

Dealing with morons during a hurricane was easier. From the corner of her eye, she saw a ragged outfit and giant hat. Sighing, she got up and tried to escape Cole's attention.

 

Trevelyan saw fit to dress Leliana down for failing to find out concrete secrets from Sydney in the two months she had been in Skyhold. No one from Ferelden to the Anderfels had heard of this woman or the rider of an Acadian Hart. He didn't see much value in the knowledge gleaned from merely watching her. The way the woman was a total foreigner to the area as she read books on common culture and laws. Her knowledge of healing. How she constantly bickered with the healers, ranted about how bleeding someone was the _worst_ idea to ever cross a moron's head, that if they just ignored the nonsense of the four galls, they'd be on a path to actually helping people. Sydney's education and knowledge was surprisingly broad even when it was extremely lacking.

She was intelligent and adapted quickly. Her hart was loyal, and she affectionate to it, but ignorant of its needs. Dennet said she'd begged a stable hand to teach her how to care for her mount. She did not parade about with her sword and was obviously uncomfortable with how people deferred to her. When in the tavern, she never knew the words to the songs, yet sang boisterously to songs only she knew, and she had a vast knowledge of alcohol that was at the same time incredibly limited. Cole found her interesting to follow around, though that didn't say much. Iron Bull liked to tease her. Varric wove an elaborate tale of how they'd met once while sailing with the Rivaini. The others hadn't interacted with her much. She avoided Solas.

All of that, Trevelyan could not wrap his tiny little head around. Leliana sneered silent disrespect and left the gaping Inquisitor in the war room with an equally disgusted Josephine. The ambassador's voice echoed after Leliana, demanding to know why the boy thought he was a better spy than Leliana, than _the Left Hand of the Divine_. Leliana stiffened further at the thought of Trevelyan having managed to make Josephine angry enough to raise her voice. In the main hall, Varric followed her until she whipped around, barbs on her tongue.

“I hear that Tiger threatened you with me. It looks like you've been eating well.” His charming grin didn't seem to notice her black mood. “I'm flattered.”

“You should be.” Sydney's grinning face was at his shoulder. “I wouldn't use just anyone to blackmail our spymaster.”

Not responding to them, Leliana brushed past to be alone.

“What's up with her?” Varric asked.

“Lord Trevelyan is here, isn't he?” Sydney responded.

“Right,” was his long-suffering sigh. “I know what you mean. Hey, join me for an ale?”

By then, Leliana was too far away to hear Sydney's reply. Seething, she went to ask the Maker for guidance.


	6. Compliments and Sexual Innuendos

 

“ _There are supposed to be fifty-two copies of Hard in Hightown here, but we're missing all but four!”_

_-Librarian of Skyhold_

* * *

 

 

There were two versions of the Iron Bull. One: the super-sexy man-beast who could charm anyone into his bed. Two: the big, adorable, sweet-hearted Teddy bear who needed the barest of excuses to be a saint. At least, Sydney grunted around her ale, that's what fanfics and fanart would have you believe. Truth was, he was both of those. He was also prone to telling stories about raunchy, sticky sex or stinking, violent shits or bloody, scarring fights with dragons. Don't forget that he smelled like pipe tobacco and lemons and week-old b.o. Normal guy b.o. It was weird. She guessed she'd been expecting something more exotic like brimstone.

Yet it was Vivienne who often smelled of sulfur. It was something to do with her fire magic. When she wasn't casting, she generally smelled like an expensive perfume store. And privilege. She was as gorgeous and haughty as the game portrayed, all smooth skin and sculpted cheekbones and practiced movements. Sydney admired how every flutter, every small gesture and look appeared thought out, practiced and poetic. It was lust at first sight. And hatred at second meeting. Refreshing upon third.

Vivienne was self-serving and played the Game viciously. She was also doing what she thought best for all mages, to advance their cause, protect and nurture them, and create a future for them. Sydney admired her as much as she feared her. It was always interesting listening to Vivienne making conversation or debating various topics. Sydney couldn't decide who was a better conversationalist for Vivienne: Dorian or Josephine.

Both dark-skinned nobles were capable of making Vivienne parry, retreat, regroup to attack. It was fascinating listening to them. Who knew that a simple conversation about Tevinter silk could actually be a dangerous minefield? Josephine somehow never raised her voice or sounded threatening. Ever.  _Ever_ . She had a whole range of tones that ranged from giggly to poisonous to righteous to comforting and she used every one to make every word work in her favor.

Dorian was more prone to talking circles around his opponent, to using broad gestures and extravagant amounts of cynicism as emphasis. He tended to provoke and slap back rather than bend and sway like Josephine did during a storm. Both were equally well educated in politics and geopolitics and economics and... Sydney shook her head. Topics she'd generally scroll quickly past when they showed up in her Facebook feed. Listening to her new companions gave her a fresh appreciation for actual conversation as opposed to texts or status updates or Snapchat stories.

Conversation was an art form in Thedas. Must be what life was like before radio and TV and the internet. The main source of entertainment in Skyhold was talking. The second was drinking. The third was punching each other, usually after talking and drinking. Sydney was glad of the experience and skill her career as a bartender had given her. She was prepared to carry on any sort of conversation about anything with anyone. And able to guide them away from topics she didn't enjoy. Or wasn't ready for.

Sydney lifted her mug as Varric swaggered into the tavern. Though he might be half her height, he had the presence of a dragon. No one sober treated him as anything but a tall, impressive man. Two patrons stepped politely out of his way. He grinned and waved at a wench to bring him his usual. “Hey, Tiger.” He offered Bull and the Chargers greetings, got a round of drunken cheer back.

“That's a new bruise.”

She touched the long mark that Leliana's practice knife had left that morning. Right across her neck, where a sharp blade would have opened her artery and killed her. Leliana didn't hold back. She showed Sydney  _exactly_ how ruthless you had to be to survive in this world. “Fresh this morning.”

Varric shook his head. “And that's why I prefer Bianca. She tends to keep my enemies at a nice, safe distance. Or,” he grinned at Bull, “At least in that guy's range.”

Bull grinned like a cat at the thought of fighting. “Oh yea. You slow 'em down and I split 'em apart!”

They bantered like that for a minute, long enough for Sydney to contemplate why it was these two she'd immediately become friends with. They were on her wavelength. And they both reminded her of her best friend back home. Josiah. Tall, muscular, full of good cheer and flirtatious grins. Although Joze had dark, Hispanic skin and features, his eyes were as blue as Varric's. He had a heart of gold in his chest, loved his home and family fiercely, didn't tolerate bullies or idiots, had a powerful work ethic and great sense of style, and liked to drink. Like Bull, he was bi, preferred the pretty ones, and damn anyone who tried to use that against him.

Around them, her sexuality wasn't used against her. Sydney was beginning to feel that sexuality in Thedas was free to express unless your family was important enough to need alliances by marriage and babies. Mostly. Tevinter was a place apart, mired in heteronormativity. Sydney grinned at the word. She'd have to break down about three different terms and a few millennia of religion and history before she could begin to explain it to anyone in Thedas. Maybe she'd throw it at her new favorite cis-het male if she ever needed to make him feel stupid.

Varric and Krem were debating which of Sydney's songs they liked enough to get her to repeat. Drunken karaoke was the bread and butter of Sydney's friendship with Josiah. It was how they'd met and bonded and how they spent their free evenings together. Sydney sang sober too, had to if she actually wanted to learn the lyrics, but wouldn't do it in public that way. A few weeks back, Varric had gotten Sydney drunk enough to talk a little about home and she'd started singing. Nineties rock music had graced the tavern more than a few times since.  
Bull put in his own opinion about what to convince Sydney to sing before suddenly humming tunelessly and scratching the stubble on his chin. He switched his regard to Sydney. “Hey, Syd. You teach Red any of your songs yet?”

Do anything but learn what was being taught and avoid talking too much about herself to the keen-eyed spymaster? “Yea, no.”

He blinked. “Um?”

Okay, she also flirted. How could she not? Leli, better not let her know that's what Sydney sometimes called her in her head, wasn't cute like she was shown in the games. She was _pretty_. And the games couldn't possibly get across the sheer intensity of the woman's presence. How glacial her eyes truly were or the slight curl on the left side of her mouth when she spoke or the painfully perfect posture or how seductive the scent of Andraste's Grace on her skin was. Nervous energy had Sydney blurting out how pretty Leliana's eyes were on that first morning. It became a way to fill the air, offering compliments and sexual innuendos. And to redirect talk from Sydney's origins.

Damn, but the woman was persistent. And subtle. And ridiculously intelligent. And with a memory like a... forget an elephant, like a video. Leliana might have an eidetic memory, the way she could recall tiny details from reports or conversations or something she'd barely glanced at. It eventually became obvious to both that Sydney was avoiding talk of her past and neither would give up their agendas, so the back and forth became a game. Sydney couldn't say she didn't enjoy it. Time spent with Leliana could be painful and frustrating, yet never wasted. There was always something new to enjoy.

Like admiring the fabric, scarf, head cover thing that Leliana wore. It was made from the finest of wools. Soft and smooth and not itchy at all. Once, when Sydney had managed to pin the woman by using her self-defense Kung Fu, she'd taken a huge risk and loosed a hand to reach up and touch the fabric.

She'd had no idea there was that fine of wool in this world. She wanted it. There was no way she could afford it though. The scarf had been a gift from the Divine and cost more than... Sydney didn't remember exactly what Leliana had said. Probably because she'd moved on from the beautiful fabric to creamy skin and accidentally stroked that as well and caught sight of Leliana's eyes changing. Narrow rings of blue surrounded vast stretches of black. Deep, unfathomable depths that sang to Sydney, called for her to reach in and discovered their hidden treasures.

“Whoa. Soft.” Sydney had muttered.

She was absolutely positive that Leliana's eyes had darted down to Sydney's lips. “My thanks. Now, show me that maneuver.”

Leliana had pushed her off with an ease that said she had allowed Sydney to touch her scarf. Sydney hadn't stopped swooning over that intentional meeting of bodies.

“Hey, quit fantasizing and answer me!” Bull laughed while Sydney rubbed the arm he'd punched.

Right. Teaching Leliana songs from home sounded like a shit idea to flirt with her. Sydney had a mediocre voice at best and wouldn't embarrass herself by singing a romantic ballad to the freaking Nightingale. “We train, Bull, and I drool. No room for singing.”

He snickered. “You _do_ do a lot of drooling when she's around. Have you heard the newest rumor about the Nightingale and her holy lover?”

Oh shit. These rumors. Sydney suspected that Bull and Varric and probably Krem were the source of more than a few. Chuckling, she leaned forward. “And how does the holy messenger seduce the sister today?”

 

Could be worse, Sydney reminded herself as she lit a candle in her room. She could be on the road, sleeping in a tent, a thousand times more exposed to the cold weather. Or in a castle that didn't have even Skyhold's primitive plumbing. Pumps and sheer pressure from the spring that gushed out under the keep channeled water throughout Skyhold, to the kitchens and communal toilets, and to the few private toilets in the keep proper. Sydney was impressed that the castle's original designers had created a sort of sewer system that dumped the grey water into cesspits instead of into the river.

How horrible would it be to live downriver from Skyhold if the river was full of shit and everything else that went down the toilet? How many towns and villages and farmers suffered from that basic lack of sanitation in other places?

Sydney gagged at the thought of drinking from rivers. That's what adventurers did. They drank from rivers and streams full of animal and human excrement. There went her urge to travel. She was perfectly happy with the fresh spring water that was a little heavy with minerals, but otherwise fantastic. Or ale. Or wine. Yep, if she ended up on the road, she'd be drinking a lot of alcohol purely for hygiene purposes.

That didn't sound too bad.

She shivered under her cloak and poked at the cold remains of the fire. Could be worse, she reminded herself. Not by much. But she was definitely feeling a bit homesick for a hot Miami beach and an icy margarita. She scraped away the ash, tossed fresh kindling down, and went to look for a lighter. Pure habit. The candle and how she lit it was remembered. A neat little metal gadget that sparked at the tip when it was squeezed. She left the sparker on the table and lit a long taper from the candle, transferred it to the kindling and spent the next half hour making sure her fire caught.

Leliana or anyone else could have probably gotten real flames and coals in half the time. The whole outdoor camping thing had never really caught on with Sydney, despite her dad's summer attempts. She much preferred her non-beach outdoors in videogames over real life. Because bugs. And bugspray and giant animals and no toilets.

When the fire was finally strong enough to dance by itself, homesickness pounced. The first week of living in a fantasy world had been fucking awesome. Getting to meet her game heroes and crushes -because Cassandra was definitely up there with women to pant over- and elves and mages was amazing, beyond amazing, _stellar_. Then the muscle aches and bruises started to set in. The novelty of Skyhold's primitive life began to wear off. She started to miss the internet, her video games, all the little ways she used to communicate with friends and her mom while sailing. Pop culture references that no one got. Pop culture references that she didn't get. The repetitive winter dinner menu.

Ugh. Winter.

Sydney loved summer. Warm nights, hot days, long hours of sunshine, tropical food, everything except mosquitos. Fuckin bugs couldn't handle the city much though, so she was perfectly happy in Miami. When she did have to endure cold, she made sure her hotel room's heater was cranked up or she was parked in front of a roaring fire that she didn't have to tend. She flopped back onto her bed. It was decent enough even when the straw poked up through the fitted sheet. What sucked most was how small it was. It might be about the size of a double back home. She wasn't exactly tall, was only average height at five-foot-six, and didn't need a queen-sized bed, did just fine on the small bunks aboard ship, yet she had a queen mattress at home for the sheer luxury. And sometimes, when she had the occasional lover, she liked the space for two.

Her fantasies had Leliana eventually falling into her bed. Not an impossible assumption given Leliana's flirting and the stories about her temporary bedmates. Would it be worth it? Leliana was dangerous. She was dark and ruthless and cold. She could easily be the villain instead of a hero.

And so very, very sexy.

“I'd still let her pin me down.” Sydney grinned at the ceiling. A fresh thought struck. There was something else the games hadn't showed. Leliana was tall. Five-eight, maybe five-nine. Not giant, no. Just enough to make Leliana that much more appealing. “You're in so much trouble, Syd.” She chuckled at herself. Add on the challenge that somewhere in Leli was that sweet, gentle girl who marveled over shoes and nugs, who just needed someone to bring her out again...

What Sydney carefully didn't think about was how it was easier to fantasize about a woman than let herself dwell on a home she might never see again.

 

It never failed to impress Leliana how agile Sydney was. She had a natural grace, no, a trained grace that lent itself handily to Sydney's martial efforts. It aided her dodges and feints, made her movements flow smoothly, made her a quick learner of complex forms, made Leliana wonder if Sydney was a trained dancer or acrobat. And those strange maneuvers she employed. The exotic style was well-suited to Sydney's fluid manner.

Leliana smirked as that same style thwarted Cullen's current attempt to hit his sparring partner. His student had difficulty keeping her sword and shield high enough to be properly effective. Only her legs seemed willing to keep up the demanding movements. Sydney ducked a high swing, let the momentum take her the ground where she rolled under Cullen's guard, managed to strike his hamstring on the way. Cassandra called the point.

“Good!” Cullen cheered. “Now, get your shield back up high enough to defend yourself. Higher, Sydney!” He drove his point in with a heavy blow from his practice sword. It wasn't blocked properly, and the dulled blade thudded into Sydney's padded armor. She cried out, and her arm wobbled, the shield falling uselessly to her side.

Had they not been using practice blades, Cullen would have been crippled by Andraste's Fire. The blade could cut through steel and bone with the same buttered ease. It would balance out Sydney's lacking strength when up against a large, heavily armored opponent. As long as she got the chance to strike. Hopefully, her strength would continue to grow as the snows receded. She needed to be able to hold her own before Trevelyan would allow her to join him. That was the goal. To have both of Andraste's chosen fighting side by side for the Inquisition.

Given the reports on Sydney's relationships with the various members of the Inner Circle, she would be a fine addition. She should also be a good balance to Trevelyan's brash, childish ways. The spoiled little nobleman behavior only seemed to get worse as the months progressed. It had to be stopped, yet no one seemed able to curb it.

Would Sydney be able to? Would she try to?

Leliana considered how Sydney battled with the healers, blackmailed Leliana, ingratiated herself to stable hands, cooks, and servants. Oh yes. She would take personal offense at how Trevelyan dealt with every problem with his sword or _noble_ privilege. Leliana's teeth showed as a smile curled. Sydney would outright defy Trevelyan if he chose a course of action that she didn't approve of and spend every other moment quietly undermining him by fixing the problems he ignored or created.

And that was part of Leliana's problem with Sydney. The woman appealed to Leliana on far too many levels. She had been both frustrated and excited when Sydney asked to continue their morning routine when Cullen had taken up her afternoons. Training with Sydney had long since gone from the chore it started as to a pleasurable exercise. Not only was it good exercise, Leliana enjoyed the company.

Leliana looked forward to her mornings with Sydney. She looked forward to the afternoons watching Sydney. She often found herself looking for Sydney in the halls and stairways even when she had no intention of speaking with her.

“Maker's breath.” She muttered and forced herself to turn away from the swordfighting lesson and return to her duties. What was she doing acting like a girl and fussing over a pretty face? And agile body. And fierce intelligence. And bold actions. And...

Maker give her strength.

 

 


	7. French

 

“ _The Inquisition, what a load of pig shit! Washed up Sisters and crazed Seekers? No one can take them seriously. Everyone knows it's just an excuse for a bunch of political outcasts to grab power.”_

_-Marquis Alphonse_

* * *

 

 

Astride gleaming mounts, the Inquisitor and his companions came with news of beating another enemy into the spring mud. His arrogance and swagger was almost palpable, even at the distance of half a courtyard. He frowned when all of Skyhold did not immediately attend his return. Dark hair scraped back from his face, and he noticed the noise and huddle of people at the far end. From her vantage point, Leliana thought that two weeks was not long enough without him. She watched his companions exchange looks and follow him.

At the sparring ring, Cullen was occupied with his pupil. Unlike Leliana, he had not started with wooden blades. The man had engaged her at full speed, demanding steel and armor as if in a live battle. He had engaged her as though she were an equal. The man had less experience with teaching than Leliana, but he seemed a natural at it. Remarkably, Sydney, after scarce weeks with Leliana, had been able to keep pace with him after a few sessions. Her muscles needed more endurance and strength training, of course. She would never win a blade fight against an opponent like Cullen or herself, not without a dragon's horde of luck. The woman was too slow and inexperienced for a traditional duel, yet she seemed about ready to face the battlefield.

A flash of white blinded the audience around the sparring ring. Sydney's timing couldn't have been more perfect. It threw off Cullen, allowed her to sweep the man's feet out from under him and rest the tip of her sword at his throat. Trevelyan had also finally elbowed his way through the crowd in time to see her win. Beside him, Cassandra slowly turned, found Leliana watching from the tavern's upper floor. She gave an expression of approval to which Leliana nodded. Sydney made up for her weaknesses with cleverness, agility, and excellent use of those white flames. Burning crazed cultists wasn't the only thing they were good for.

“Well done, Sydney.” Cullen's bass rang across the yard. He found Trevelyan watching and gave a bright welcome. “Ah, Inquisitor! Welcome home. How do you like our new sparring ring?”

“Hail, Cullen.” Trevelyan answered. “It looks to be a good use of our funds. I should like to have a go in it soon.”

Guessing at his expression, which was an unfriendly scowl at Sydney, Leliana believed that he felt threatened by her power. “He should.” She muttered. Surprising herself, “She'd make a better Inquisitor than you.” Her thoughts put her in a sour mood, and she busied herself with sending orders for a vile nobleman to be disposed of.

Morning saw her temper no better, and she took out her emotions on Sydney, hammering the woman until she took a knee in exhaustion.

“Nice to see your energy levels this high,” came the panted joke.

Heart jumping in her throat, daggers in her hands thirsting for blood, Leliana walked away. She skipped breakfast and dove into her work. The discussion in the war room later didn't improve her mood. After Josephine mentioned the reports of nobles who were curious about Andraste's second messenger, Cullen suggested that Sydney go on a mission with the Inquisitor. Show the world more of the Inquisition's power. Give them more evidence of their divine intentions. It was a good idea.

Stabbing at the carrots on her dinner plate, Leliana hated it. Her agents had given her the level to herself, sensing her anger, not wanting to be on the receiving end of it. Nervously, one delivered a sealed message and made a hasty retreat. From Val Royeaux, the leaf of vellum held a report that had her stabbing too hard, cracking the plate. A crow shrieked in protest. She gazed up at it, at the empty cage beside it. One bird less than there had been yesterday. Marjolaine was interfering with her network again. “I should have killed you when I had the chance,” she hissed.

“Killed who?”

The dinner fork sank into the wood behind where Sydney's head had just been. It quivered, flashed candlelight across the woman's eyes.

“So, you _are_ mad at me. Noted.” Sydney made steps toward the stairs.

 _“Merde, non._ ” Leliana swore. “ _Pas du tout_.” Realizing she'd slipped into Orlesian in her anger and distraction didn't help her mind reorganize itself. She continued to swear healthily in it. At a pause in her rant, Sydney made her presence known again.

“Then what is it?” She stood at the top of the stairs, one hand on the banister, body poised to leap from any more flying utensils.

“ _Une putain de mon pass_ _é_ _. Un faux c_ _œ_ _ur._ ” Her muttered reply was purposely in Orlesian. She wanted to be honest, but she didn't want to talk about it, to allow such a measure of vulnerability. She'd never spoken of it, not since the Blight. Sydney would take the hint when Leliana didn't revert to Ferelden's common tongue. Under Sydney's feet, the wood clunked.

“Right then. Tell me all about it.” She made herself comfortable in a chair and clasped her hands together, watching patiently.

Or maybe she wouldn't leave. For a breath, Leliana feared that Sydney had understood. Shaking her head, she reminded herself how the woman had once asked for a translator when she wanted to meet some of the Orlesian merchants. “ _Non._ ”

An unpleasant snort. “Keeping what's pissing you off all bottled up isn't going to help anyone.” She touched a fresh scab on her cheek. “Especially me.”

Fury rising, Leliana slammed a fist to the desk. _“Non! J'veux pas parler! Laisse ici.”_

“Do you talk to anyone about your personal life? Cassandra? Cullen?” At each, Leliana made faces. “Josephine? There has to be someone. What about a whore? They know what to do with their mouths and money.”

The absurdity of the idea of Leliana spilling her personal secrets to a paid companion was... Only absurd because she'd never done more than consider it. And because she'd never had to pay for companionship before. Not that she'd had any in months. Working for the Divine had consumed her, filled her with a purpose that had overpowered her need for physical release with another. Since Justinia's death, the hole in the sky, she'd been too consumed by grief and vengeance to consider an intimate tryst.

“Fine. Then talk to me. Pick a language. Whatever you want. Just get your troubles off your heart, Leliana.” Sydney's eyes were fierce, but gentle. They reminded her of Justinia's eyes, the way they offered solace.

_“Laisse-moi!”_

Sydney remained determined. She leaned forward. “How about this, Sister Nightingale. I'll trade you a secret for a secret.”

Tempted, Leliana's jaw stayed shut.

“Or a story for a story.”

How had this woman come to know her so well? Why did she find herself reacting to it? She nodded, but internally refused to play properly. Marjolaine was not a topic. Ever. She kept to Orlesian and told of a moment in her childhood with Lady Cecile, of learning to cut hair so that a stranger would never be relied on to fashion the Lady's mane.

“I'm the daughter of a Maine lobsterman and a French bartender. I grew up watching the sun rise over the ocean and watching it set over drunk old men. A pretty bad Nor'easter took dad at sea and destroyed mom's bar when I was fifteen. We packed up and moved to Miami where snow was just a memory.” She tugged on her coat and frowned at the snowy landscape they lived in.

Mind racing, Leliana couldn't tell if Sydney was lying or not. She'd never heard of this Miami place. French was an unknown term, as was a Nor'easter, though she guessed it was a storm. Lobster was an odd creature from the cold parts of the ocean. It was a tender, delicious delicacy that she'd had twice in her life. Once with Marjol- No. She would not think of her. Smoothly, she spoke of a time in Lothering, when she had spent countless hours hating the constant wet-dog stink of Ferelden. Only her time learning to put the past behind her and telling stories to the Hawke siblings had eased the nuisance.

“My first girlfriend got me an expensive perfume for my birthday. I was horribly allergic to the stuff. I had to go to the,” she licked her lips, “Healers for treatment when my throat closed up.”

There had been a courtier so enchanted by Leliana that she had convinced him to walk naked through the streets of Val Royeaux while she stole his family's most prized heirlooms.

Stifling a laugh, Sydney responded with, “I've been mooning over a person from a story for ages now. She doesn't exist in the real world, but she's beautiful and talented and crazy smart, and everything I've ever wanted in a woman.” Crimson dusted her cheeks, and she looked away.

Made suspicious by the laughter and similar story, Leliana did not reply.

“It's your turn.”

“No more. Leave.”

In that chair, the woman stayed. Her response was carefully clear. _“Non. Je vais rester jusqu'_ _à_ _ce que tu me dit le probl_ _è_ _me.”_

Sneaky little liar! Nails bit into clenched fists.

“Perhaps the first offer? Secret for a secret? Now you know I speak Orlesian.” Sydney waved an open palm at her.

Lies, deception, hiding. These were the tools of Sister Nightingale's trade. She felt her anger fade, replaced by respect. Anyone who could hide a secret from her, from right under her nose deserved that. Also, Sydney had not used these tools against her, except now, to draw out the reason behind Leliana's temper, to try and help. Despite the secrets kept from her, trusting the foreign woman was frighteningly easy. Was it because Andraste may have sent her? Was it Sydney's good nature? The attraction Leliana felt growing for her? Scared of the latter, but not scared enough, she answered. “Someone from my past is haunting me.”

“Someone you wish you'd killed when you had the chance.”

That didn't need an answer.

Sydney sucked in a lip, cautiously met her eyes. “Marjolaine?”

Ice stole through her veins, froze her to the chair. By the Maker! How did she know? Had, she almost couldn't think it, had Andraste told her? “Yes,” barely left her lips.

“She hasn't changed, has she?” Sydney demanded, gaze hot, tone sharp.

Who was this woman?

“If she wasn't such a vicious bitch, I'd feel sorry for her,” snapped the mystifying woman.

“Why are you here?” Leliana whispered, cut a hand through the air to interrupt Sydney's immediate response. “Why here, in Skyhold?” Had Andraste truly sent her?

Squirming in her chair, Sydney finally rose and put a hand to the window. “I don't know.” Her forehead dropped to the frosted pane. “I don't know why or how or if I'll ever be able to go home.” Hot breath fogged. There came a noise that sounded suspiciously like a sob. “I miss my mom, my friends, my job, the beach, even my weird roommate.” With each admission, her voice had faded to a dry whisper.

Feeling as though she'd been slapped by the emotional outburst of information, Leliana gaped.

Crying laughter, harsh and slightly hysterical turned on her. “Hell, you're the closest I have to something familiar around here.” Her damp eyelashes lowered. “And we're not even friends.” A palm scraped across her eyes. “You don't need this. I'll get out of here.”

Sydney made it to the stairs, and Leliana realized she was getting what she'd been asking for since the woman had startled her that evening. Except, she seemed to be taking all the light in the room with her despite the number of flickering candles. “Wait.”

Eyes turned dark by emotion glistened at her.

“I,” she flailed for words, “I...”

More tears were swiped at.

“I have a fine bottle of wine in my quarters.” She twisted her hands together. “And the chairs are far more comfortable than these here, not to mention there's less chance of someone walking in at an inopportune moment.” What was she offering? What did she want? “We can talk.” She picked up the papers that couldn't be left alone, moved to stand beside Sydney. “Shall we?”

A few eyes followed them as they maneuvered the corridors and open spaces.”Sister Nightingale!” Trevelyan's distinct voice caught her.

“ _Merde._ ”

Sydney looked at her. Looking back, she pondered how Sydney very rarely used any of her titles, yet the Inquisitor always did. If he called her by name, spoke to her with such unwarranted intimacy, she would skin him alive. But with Sydney...

He caught up to them, his enormous war axe slapping on his back. The weapon was just like him, harsh and without grace. His eyes fell on Sydney. The way he stared made Leliana bristle. “Eh. The commoners are calling you Andraste's Knight and other such silliness.”

“There are some who call you the Butcher and other such niceties.” Chin high, Sydney calmly replied.

“How dare you?” Stupidly, he took a step into her personal space, breathed down on her. Fingers touching a dagger, Leliana considered how much damage would be acceptable on the Inquisitor.

Sydney merely grew angry. “How dare I? How dare you.” She poked a finger at his armored chest. “You are supposed to be a symbol of hope and unity, instead you wave around your big axe like a giant dick, telling everyone to look at you and be in awe. Someone gets in your way, and you mow them down. You don't care for what the Inquisition stands for, what Leliana and the others started it to do.”

Mouth possibly hanging slightly ajar, Leliana stared at her. No one had spoken to Trevelyan with such disregard since before he had closed the breach. Anger rolled off the woman in hot waves.

“If you'd only take a moment to holster your ego and listen to your advisers, to the people, you'd be ten times the Inquisitor you're pretending to be,” finished the seething woman.

Already over his own shock at her impudence, Trevelyan steamed. “I should teach you manners, peasant!”

“Go ahead. The sparring ring is empty.” Sydney waved a hand at it, and his head followed. The ring lay dark and empty.

“Very well.”

The livid pair of them stomped toward it, Leliana an astounded step behind. Heavier feet jogged up, and black horns shone under the light of a torch in Iron Bull's grasp. “This should be good.” He grinned at her.

How had this night gone so wrong? “I don't have your optimism.”

As the fuming duo climbed the fence, a shorter shadow joined them. “I thought I heard a fight brewing.”

“Ah, your sixth sense for drama has rewarded you again, Varric.” Bull laughed.

“Hey, Sparky, Tiger, why don't you let the Pants mediate for you.” Varric called out.

Bull glowered. “I hate that nickname.”

“I hate your bright yellow pants.” Varric countered with a gesture toward his trousers, an intense yellow fabric dotted with mauve squares and stains. They were a remarkably unpleasant sight. He must have gotten the fabric at quite the bargain after it went out of style in Val Royeaux five summers ago.

“State the terms, Bull.” Trevelyan barked.

The giant man rubbed at his stubble of beard. “Hmm. What do you think, dwarf, ten points is winner?”

“Ten points?” Leliana coughed. “Are you trying to get one of them killed?”

Varric's eyes were on the two shifting figures, watching them rotate and squat warmth into muscles. “She's right. Six, seven at the most.”

“Four.” Leliana argued.

“Five points it is!” The trouble-loving mercenary called out.

Trevelyan hoisted his axe that sparkled with a freezing rune, and the ring lit with the flare of Andraste's Fire. Leliana's heart clenched.

“BEGIN!” roared the Iron Bull.

Frozen dirt flew as the axe-head chewed into the space Sydney had exited. Trevelyan wasn't in it for points; he meant to maim, or worse. Feet in the air, Sydney threw flames at her opponent's face. Trevelyan swirled away, taking his axe with him and using the momentum for another power swing. Sydney was rolling on the ground when it came back and bounced up, swinging her own blade at his vulnerable thigh. Sparks flashed.

“ONE! SYDNEY!” Bull called, grinning boyishly.

She caught the axe blade with her stomach and flew, her body breaking through the little fence.

“ONE! HERALD!”

Despite knowing that Sydney wore her recently-acquired enchanted armor, Leliana immediately feared a mortal wound. Coughing, Sydney rose, hand to her ribs. Fractured likely, possibly broken. She used flames again to blind Trevelyan and avoid his running attack, slapped his butt with the flat of her blade.

“TWO! SYDNEY!”

He howled. His axe caught her shoulder, spinning her around.

“TWO! HERALD!”

Other voices began to shout, encouragements, boo's, bets. Around them, Skyhold's people were gathering, poking out of windows. This rivalry had been heading toward a fight for some time, but this wasn't how Leliana's calculating mind thought it should be handled. Her foolish heart, on the other hand, cheered for Sydney to wipe the floor with Trevelyan's arrogance even as she feared for the inexperienced fighter. Leliana tossed an exasperated glare at Bull's raging enthusiasm.

“THREE! HERALD!”

Her head whipped back from the crowd in time to see Sydney's feet in the air above her head.

“FOUR! HERALD!”

She landed on her back, the axe sweeping down to cleave her neck. It ate dirt again, and Leliana fought to breathe. Shouts and hollers and whistles circled them. Sydney ran, panting hard. Trevelyan didn't stall to gloat, he was too clever of a fighter for that, and chased her down. She threw flames, but he ignored them, now used to the trick.

Flaring brilliance blinded Leliana and everyone else, there was a clang of steel on steel, but Bull didn't call a point. The following darkness was as blinding. This time, Trevelyan hissed in pain.

“THREE! SYDNEY!”

Sword met axe. Sparks flashed. Sydney gave herself space, flung fire at Trevelyan's eyes again.

“That trick is long old!” He sneered as he ducked and charged. The sword itself flew at him next, and he skidded to avoid the spinning weapon. Sydney's boot heel caught his nose with a solid crack. Leliana's eyes bulged at Sydney's flexibility.

“FOUR! SYDNEY!”

The roar around the ring had lit up every window and doorway. All of Skyhold must be watching, Leliana grumbled. Trevelyan shook his head, spat the blood that was dripping into his mouth.

“You seem to have lost your weapon, little upstart.” The sword lay on the stones outside the ring, a wide arc of onlookers around it.

Sydney didn't look away from him, didn't seem perturbed at all. “Yep.”

“Do you yield?”  
She sneered, “Not a chance, Ser Chops.”

Varric guffawed, and Bull, then half the crowd joined in. Their Inquisitor snarled and gave in to his anger, swinging wildly, fallen prey to her goading. As his axe was at the outside of a wide swing, Sydney was suddenly in a crouch, sweeping one leg around, taking his feet out from under him. She sprang atop him, knee to his elbow, pinning the axe arm down, and a dagger flashed at his throat. Pride surged through Leliana's heart.

“FIVE! SYDNEY WINS!” Bull was in the ring, pulling Sydney up, his large body between her and Trevelyan. Cassandra, Blackwall, and Solas appeared there as well. They gathered up a furious Inquisitor and distracted him by straightening his broken nose. Their added bodies formed a better fence between the two combatants.

“What a fight!” cheered Bull as he wrapped an arm around Sydney's shoulders. She winced. “The two of you really know how to duel! Why, if it was me, I wouldn't have been able to resist using my best tricks!”

Sydney nodded, said something quietly, turned from Bull's grasp to face Trevelyan. “You gave me an honorable fight, Inquisitor. What I learned from it, I'll take with me to further the Inquisition's cause.”

Leliana's inner bard cheered the tact of her pupil, her earlier pride swelling to sinful heights. Sydney's words, along with his companions' sturdy presence, managed to cool Trevelyan's head. He gave a respectful salute. “And you, Ser Knight.” Wiping at his nose, he looked thoughtful. “Your control of that fire is impressive. I thank you for not burning me.”

Sauntering toward them, Vivienne was carrying Andraste's Fire by way of a scarf wrapped about its hilt. “Yes. It's interesting to know that it can produce a cool flame.” She rested the tip on the ground, let the pommel angle toward Sydney, who politely accepted it. “I am curious to know what else you can do with it.”

Holding the sword again, Sydney nodded.

“I would be honored to have you join me on our next quest.” Trevelyan offered his free hand.

She pulled hers from her ribs, and their hands wrapped around wrists. “The honor is mine.”

 _It takes fire to forge a blade._ Why was that running through her head again? Was Sydney the fire that could temper Trevelyan? Leliana's lips drew tight. Forging, heat, pounding out impurities... Oh, yes, then Sydney was surely a hammer. She could be blunt, but not as badly as Trevelyan. In comparison to him, her style was refreshing.

Fire could also be cleansing. As it once was in the temple where the Urn of Sacred Ashes used to reside. One had to shed all mortal vestments and pass through the fires to be judged worthy to use the ashes of Andraste. Perhaps Trevelyan was not the only one intended for trials. Who else could Andraste be testing through Sydney?

“Leliana.” Arm holding her ribs, Sydney was approaching her, blade sheathed, Bull at her side. Trevelyan was being escorted another direction by the others. Smartly, they were assuring that the hostilities were over for the evening. Thank the Maker that Sera had not shown up.

“Yes?”

Sydney allowed Bull to help her over the fence. “May we skip tomorrow morning's practice?”

Chuckles came from Varric. “Sore, Tiger?”

Childishly, her tongue poked out at him.

“Enough foolishness for one night,” Leliana admonished around a stubborn upturn of her lips. “Let us get you inside and have a look at those ribs. We'll discuss it there.”

“Will there still be wine?” Hopeful tone and fluttering lashes were too much. Leliana lost the battle against smiling.

“As long as you don't start any more quarrels tonight.”

Varric's shrewd gaze shifted between them. “There’s something here that I'm missing.”

“See you later, storyteller.” Sydney refused to oblige his interest.

“Alright, fine. I'll figure it out by myself.” He replied cheerfully. “Can't be too hard what with two beautiful women going off to one room to inspect bruises. Rivaini would be drooling.”

Sydney started to laugh, but grabbed her ribs in abrupt quiet. Murmurs of approval and awe followed in their wake. Disapproval and fear did as well, but at least those were in minute numbers. Feeling an urge to wrap a protective arm about Sydney's waist, Leliana clenched her hands firmly behind her back. She nodded politely at yet another: “Good evening, Ser Knight, Sister.”

With each one, Sydney grew increasingly more skittish. She kept glancing at Leliana, looking for something. Approval? Guidance? Putting a teasing note to her voice, “You seem to be gaining in popularity. They're addressing you before me.”

Playfully, Sydney shook her head. “No way. They're just saving the best for last.” She groaned, and a blush darkened her cheeks. “God, I'm lame.”

This was new. Sydney hadn't flirted so openly before. Not quite knowing what to do with it, Leliana continued quietly. She led them to her quarters and held the door for her guest. Firmly, she locked it, not wanting any other visitors. Tossing her gloves to the table, she reached for the single burning taper to light other candles. She also lit the prepped fire.

“Let's get that armor off.”

Yet standing, Sydney groaned again, her eyes on a chair. A hand went for the buttons on her coat. She startled when Leliana stepped into her space, taking over, deftly releasing the catches. The coat was draped around a chair, then the stiff leather armor was tackled. Years had passed since she'd last helped another with their armor. At least, since last it felt like an intimate engagement. Helping the wounded soldiers on a battlefield did not raise her temperature or quicken her breathing like this.

Lightning seemed to be arcing between their bodies, unseen, but tingling. The brief respite as she set aside the various pieces of armor wasn't enough. When only a thick sweater and undergarment were left, Leliana stalled, caught Sydney's near-feverish gaze. Her fingers reached for the hem and felt a definite shock race through when they brushed skin.

“Lift your arm.” She breathed.

Sydney obliged, held the fabric out of Leliana's way as she inspected swollen, red flesh. Tenderly, Leliana pressed along the ribs, feeling for cracks. A healer should be doing this, she told herself belatedly. Should, but she had wanted to. An excuse to touch?

Flinching and hissing in pain, Sydney's knuckles turned white.

“Sorry.” She felt the area again. “Likely cracked, but it's the only one. I have a poultice.” From a shelf, she drew a box full of potions and poultices, various ingredients for crafting. Another box had bandages, sharp knives, and other various healer implements. She dipped her fingers into a pot of lemony smelling goo and applied it to the skin around the cracked rib. Under them, tattooed flesh shivered.

“That feels nice.” Sydney hummed.

“Good,” breathed Leliana. She reached for a potion to speed the bone repair. “Drink this.”

Obediently, Sydney drank the noxious liquid and grimaced while Leliana pulled out bandages to bind the rib.

“Tell me about this tattoo of yours.” A fingertip traced a flower, and Sydney's belly twitched. “I've never seen such beautiful work.”

“My cousin designed it.”

“Hold this.” Bandage strip was held in place. “Are the flowers symbolic or simply art?”

Grunting at the wrapping of her ribs, Sydney took a few hard breaths. “Dad, mom, me. Our favorites.” Her fingers flicked at the design. “Apart, but always together.”

“Beautiful.” She meant it. The flowers, the notion, Sydney. Bandage secured, her hands lingered, dropped away.

“Thanks.” Sydney's lips were so close.

“Sit. I'll get the wine.” Moving away, Leliana pushed down the hot lust that had blossomed. From another shelf, she retrieved the promised wine bottle and two goblets. She pulled out a knife, cut the wax, and yanked the cork. Golden liquid in both goblets, she allowed herself to look at Sydney again. The woman's expression was contemplative.

Choosing a goblet, Sydney smiled. “Do Orlesians make toasts before drinking?”

Handling her own goblet, Leliana chuckled. “It's all part of the Game. Do you have one in mind?”

“No.”

“May I?”

A nod.

“To good stories, and the friends who help tell them.” Friends, yes. They were certainly friends now, maybe moving to more. Goblets touched, wine was sipped. By the Maker, she was barely ready to have an intimate friend again, let alone something more. Sydney smiled at her. Warm tingles erupted in her stomach.

Andraste's flames, she wanted this woman!

Memories of the last time she'd been this taken slammed into her. Giddy joy, eagerness to be in her presence, awe and willingness to do anything for a pat on the head. Marjolaine, she snarled. Never again. Not in a thousand years would she allow someone like that access to her heart again.

“Leliana, what's wrong?” Concerned, Sydney called to her.

“I was thinking of Marjolaine,” was her uneasy reply.

Sydney's face darkened, not with an attractive blush, but a fierce anger. “What is she up to?”

“She's been hassling my spies, bribing and stealing and seducing them away. No one is willing or able to help me be rid of her.”

“Is she attacking you or the Inquisition?”

That differentiation hadn't occurred to her, and she considered it. “Likely only me, though she is a bard, so maybe both. The Inquisition makes wealthy and powerful enemies every day.” She thought about that evening's duel. “Maybe less if you're going to be beating sense into Trevelyan.”

“That ass needed it.”

“Yes. He did.” She let a mouthful of sweet wine roll on her tongue. “I keep finding new reasons to thank Andraste for your presence, it seems.”

Sydney’s smile grew, though she looked away. “Perhaps you should save that until after you learn a few more of my secrets.”

“There is precious little that could sour my opinion of you now.”

“But there is.” Sydney muttered.

“Sydney?”

“Oh, to hell with it. In the world I came from, the whole story about the Hero of Ferelden and all the companions who helped stop the Blight is a popular game! Your successes, failures, heartbreaks, romances, every bloody step of the way.” She exclaimed.

“All of Thedas knows our tale.”

Hair swung as she vehemently shook her head. “Not like this. Not the depth of intimacy that players experience. This world is fiction to mine, a game, and you're just a character in it! Even this,” Her voice grew wilder, frantic. “The Inquisition. I had completed the story up until Skyhold was established when I woke up in a fucking snow drift! Now, I don't know if I've gone insane, I'm dreaming, or if this is all really happening.” Face dropped into her hands, her tears were muffled.

The idea of Leliana's own life as nothing more than a story, a game, to others wasn't as unbelievable or appalling as Sydney obviously thought it was. Perhaps it would be for others, those who had not danced among the players of the Great Game and did not deal in the secrets of the great and powerful. She was a figure in ballads and stories shared across all of Ferelden as a companion of the Grey Warden. Such was already the normalcy of her life. Sydney's despair over her own sanity, and her worry over Leliana's feelings tugged on her heart. Careful of her ribs, Leliana wrapped her in an awkward hug, kissed her hair. “This insanity is real, and I'm glad for your presence in it.”

“But...”

Smiling down at the woman uncoiling from her misery, “You are strange enough that I believe you when you say you're from another world. I also believe that Andraste chose you, from among all those people who know my story, to bring you into it and change it for the better. Your strength and guile, odd little quirks, and,” she caressed around a cut on Sydney's cheek, “Willingness to take a few bruises seem to be exactly what we need.”

Dusky lower lip sticking out, Sydney pouted. “I'm not that strange.”

The closeness, the emotions, and the sight of that lip made Leliana tremble in want. Pulling away before she lost control, she poured more wine, hooked her chair closer with a foot, sat, and drank deeply. “You are as strange as the Inquisitor's companions. Like them, it is part of your unique strength, and I adore you more for it.”

The woman almost dropped her goblet. Leliana flushed. Fine, so her attraction was out there. Sydney could do with it as she wanted.

Sydney consulted her own goblet several times before responding, and it was softly done. “I'm rather fond of you too.”

Leliana's want flared brighter, demanded attention, but it ran up against the walls of fear built by Marjolaine's betrayal, by the Warden's rejection, by the years of solitude and Justinia's death. She felt her features smooth to blank, her eyes go cold. When Sydney's frame drooped and hurt splashed across her face, Leliana closed her eyes in shame. The noises from Skyhold preparing for sleep and the night watch filtered in from the night.

“Has there been no one to help your heart heal since Marjolaine tried to rip it out?”

Her eyelids flew open.

“That didn't come out well, did it?” Sydney dropped her gaze. “Shit.”

“No.” Her own breathy response surprised them both. She caught brown eyes with her own again. “I thought once that the Warden might, but he was in love with Alistair. Justinia helped, but our love was not romantic and only made room for friendship in my heart. There's been no one, except you.” Maker, what was she doing?

Chair legs scraped on stone, and Sydney rose from it with a hard gasp. That idiot! What was she doing forgetting her ribs and... Oh. Sydney's lips sent sparks bouncing from Leliana's own, down her spine, into the tips of her fingers. Too soon, Sydney drew back. Pain creased her features, pinched the fine skin around her eyes and lips, and Leliana stood to recapture those lips, tenderly kissing the tension in them away. Deferring to Sydney's ribs, she forced herself to stop as their breaths grew heavy. She pressed their cheeks together, enjoyed the hot breath ghosting across her ear.

“I could get,” Sydney started, was interrupted by a yawn that had her wincing. She grimaced. “Used to that, preferably without my ribs yelling at me for it.”

The night was still young, but Leliana felt the draw of sleep as well. She smiled and pressed a kiss to the damp cheek, stepped back, tasting salt on her lips. “We could skip morning training for a few days.”

Relief etched in her face, Sydney nodded, glanced at the door. Her eyebrows pulled together, and she frowned at her armor piled on the table.

“Sydney.” Leliana's mouth was moving on its own free will. “I have a large bed.”

Those eyebrows tried to reach her hairline.

“Maker's breath, it's too soon for that! I'm only suggesting sleep. Your room is so far away, and I feel very much like staying in your company, but we're both obviously quite done with the day.” She was rambling and reigned it in.

“You,” Sydney leaned in, “Are positively adorable.”

“I am not adorable! Young girls are adorable! I am a grown woman, and-”

“A dangerous fighter, skilled negotiator, and master spy.” She stole her sudden tirade. “And yet, oh so adorable.” From a breath apart, she smiled

Huffing, refusing to cover that enticingly short space between their lips, Leliana scowled. “You're ridiculous.”

Their noses brushed. “You like me.”

She did, as she liked this odd, warming quibble. Giving in, she closed the space between them until she yawned. “Maker, you're exhausting.”

“In the best of ways,” was her smug laugh.

Gently slapping a shoulder, Leliana moved back. “I'm not sleeping in my armor. Give me a moment.” She went to her wardrobe, opened one door to create the illusion of privacy, and changed from armor to thick cotton nightdress. Grabbing her spare, she smiled at the woman sitting on the bed. How she wanted to make a seductive comment about helping her undress! Instead, she set the dress in Sydney's hand and turned around. “I'll wait while you change.”

The shuffling of clothes and suppressed groans from the woman encouraged all sorts of images in her mind. She focused on the cold seeping through her socks instead of the heat between her legs.

“Done.” Sydney was on her back, feet off the side of the bed, looking drained.

Pushed by the need to care for her, Leliana tugged the bed covers back, lifted legs to the bed, and tucked the woman in. She snuffed out the candles and went to her side. Tugging off her socks, tossing them to where they'd be kept warm by the fire for the morning, she tried hard not to think about what she was doing.

Curled up in her usual manner, awkwardness fell upon them until Leliana cursed and scooted closer to wrap her fingers around cooler ones. Touching and blushing, feeling a profound sense of rightness, calm settled on her. Then it was gone, and the urge to have a lap harp or lyre in her hands made her twitch. Eyelids that had fallen struggled open in question.

She didn't have a harp anymore. Moving away from Sydney and her touch was out of the question, no matter if another verse for that ballad was singing away in her chest. The ability to sleep looked like it might fall away from Sydney if she didn't get an answer to the question in her eyes. Depriving the woman of it was also out of the question. Her only other option was to sing, but the song wasn't ready.

Only the melody was strong in her heart. Wordless music, like a lullaby. How many times had she hummed others to sleep? The first chords vibrated in her throat, and the perfect sunrise that was Sydney's smile warmed her soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Merde, non - Shit, no  
> Pas du tout - Not at all  
> Une putain de mon passé. Un faux cœur - A bitch from my past. A false heart  
> Non! J'veux pas parler! Laisse ici - No! I don't want to speak! Leave here  
> Laisse-moi! - Leave me!  
> Non. Je vais rester jusqu'à ce que tu me dit le problème - No. I am going to stay until you tell me the problem


	8. Rejection

 

“ _Fiona dear, your dementia is showing.”_

_-First Enchanter Vivienne_

* * *

 

 

Stabbing in her ribs yanked Sydney from sleep. Her breath came in rapid, shallow pants as she struggled to figure what the hell was squeezing the life out of her. Rapid blinking and flailing arms finally gave her an answer.

“Maker's breath, Sydney, are you okay?” Sleep scrunched hair flew as Leliana thrust herself upright.

Fighting through the pain, staring up at her, a wry smile formed as Sydney realized what had happened. Leliana was a cuddler. She watched the woman's face in the low firelight as she came to the same conclusion.

“Oh. Your ribs. I was, we were.” Her hands fisted the nightclothes around her thighs. “I, erm, I'm sorry.” She jumped from the bed, popped open a box and removed a vial of dark liquid. Into one of the goblets, she dripped some and added wine before offering it. “For the pain.”

Sydney didn't waste breath and sucked down the liquid. Its effect was immediate, and she sighed. When the trembling in her hands eased, she sat up. Leliana had not returned to the bed. She had poked at the fire and checked on the dark world through the window. Despite the fire, the room was not warm, especially not the stones underfoot. Sydney frowned at Leliana's bare feet and tried hard not to stare at the twin points on her chest. “You didn't hurt me on purpose.”

Leliana shifted her hips, but didn't reply.

“If you're going to brood at the window all night, at least put on some socks and a robe.” She muttered and turned her sight to the fire, listened to the gentle crackles and pops. One of the messenger owls sang in the night. Beside the wine bottle and the armor on the table was that stack of papers Leliana had brought with them. Was she planning on working here? As if on cue, Leliana slid into a chair and chose a paper to read.

“Leliana...”

“It was a foolish mistake to share a bed with you. Go back to sleep. There's plenty here to occupy me with.”

A mistake?! Sydney's inner voice roared. She managed to choke out, “If my ribs weren't hurt, waking up with you wrapped around me would've been-”

“But they are,” snapped an accusing tone. “I should never have risked your injury. You can't help the Inquisition from a bed.”

“Le-”

“It won't happen again.” Back turned, she took up the paper.

Stunned, hurt, violently angry and ready to burst into tears, Sydney was in her clothes and stomping into her boots before the goblet she'd bumped had stopped spinning on the floor. Her hand whipped by Leliana to sweep the armor into her cloak. “Fine.” She bit out. “Wallow in your fear and hide behind the mask, Sister Nightingale.”

The bundle was heaved over her shoulder, the rods of fire in her ribs ignored, the sword gripped in her other hand, and the door yanked open under the spymaster's frozen stare. An elf passing by squeaked in alarm. Halfway to her room, her fury was dampened by a powerful lethargy. She barely managed to kick open her own door and burrow under icy blankets before the drug forced her back to sleep.

 

Why did it hurt this much? Rejection wasn't new to her. Skittish women afraid of what the world would think of them weren't new either. Was it because she'd thought they would make up after a few days, that she'd break through that hard shell Leliana had around her heart? Or was it because she was stupidly expecting romance with Leliana would mirror events from _Origins_? All silly smiles and cute flirtations, no fights or arguments of any weight. Just follow the right sequence of responses and get the girl. God, she'd been an idiot. Leliana had no family, few friends, and shaken faith. She was not a woman to give her heart away to the first blushing fool who made a pass at her.

And Sydney didn't plan on sticking around this fictional world any longer than it took to figure out how to get away. Anything romantic with the spymaster had been doomed from the beginning.

 

“Ah, it's Lady Sydney, is it not?” A deep, unfamiliar voice asked. It belonged to a man somewhere in his thirties, dense, luscious brown beard hiding most of his features. He wore the thick padding meant to go under heavy plate armor over a thicker, barreled chest. There was the faint scent of horse and a spiciness that Sydney had come to associate with elfroot on him.

“That's me.” Wait. She did know this guy. “You're the Warden. Blackwall?”

His expression shifted. “Traveling with the Inquisitor has made me famous, I see.”

If he had any idea... “What can I do for you, Warden?” She hadn't much stomach for using people's names for a few days now, not since the incident with the spymaster.

“The Inquisitor is planning to ask you to join us on our next mission. I thought to acquaint myself with you. Have you had lunch yet?”

By lunch, he meant only lunch, them eating, him looking at her occasionally, then a comment about the tavern's minstrel. After their the meal, he offered a walk on the ramparts. Intrigued by the quiet man, she went with him.

“Do you prefer Lady or Ser Knight?”

She squirmed. Both were weird. She was Sydney Nelson. Her only title was Ms., unless she was at work, then it was manager, or You Fucking Bitch How Dare You Call Security On ME! when a guest turned into a mean drunk. He gave her an eyebrow, and she answered. “Lady is fine.” Ser Knight felt like it would get her into a lot more trouble than her inner gamer, who was begging for the title of Hero, was willing to get into.

“You'd never handled a sword before you came to Skyhold, correct?”

“Right.”

“You defeated the Inquisitor because he lost his temper.” Great. He was supposed to be a decent guy, not a douche. Sydney made a face into the wind. “It was an excellent move.”

“Wait,” huh? “What?”

Blackwall's arms were crossed over his chest, but he seemed to be smiling under his beard. “You're an inexperienced fighter, yet make up for it in improvisation. You couldn't beat the Inquisitor without severely burning him, so you flustered him with tricks and used his anger against him.”

“Thanks.” Seriously, that was uplifting. High praise from a veteran warrior. She beamed at him.

“I wanted to let you know I respect your effort and ability. That said, it will be some time before you're on par with the rest of us. When you join, try to stay in the middle when we move. In a fight, stick close to Sera or Varric.” He advised. “Stay out of the thick of it until you've got some kills under your belt and we learn to fight with you.”

It rankled, the way he was treating her like a noob. She wasn't, dammit. Except, she was. Blackwall was being very courteous and professional, not patronizing at all. The way her pulse had shot off, her fists clenched, she wanted a fight. Three days without training after that emotional implosion with _her_ had left her with a lot of pent up energy. “I'll try.”

He gave a short nod. “It's all I can ask. Thank you.”

 

Two mornings later saw her on Epona, craning her neck to look at the beauty of Ferelden in the spring. Her head was full of fangirl squeals. Not only was she seeing breathtaking vistas, smelling forest and flowers and waterfalls, but she was going to meet Hawke! Champion of Kirkwall, freaking awesome character. The sequel game had been disappointing, but it had its high points, like Varric, Isabella's sex appeal, and the Qunari. And Marian Hawke. Crestwood, the area they were to meet the Champion in, was few days ride away.

Meeting the Champion and seeing the world and getting to know the Inquisitor's inner circle was what kept her from setting said Inquisitor's hair on fire by the middle of the second day.

Despite the respect he'd shown her since their fight, Trevelyan wanted Sydney there like a socialite would want a trophy wife. To see her was to see his power and charm, that he had attracted and kept such a butterfly. She wanted to blame his noble blood like Sera did, the easy route. The universal stereotype simply didn't work. Cassandra, a freaking princess turned Seeker was a hard-case, intense, powerful, demanding, violent, but she was a philanthropist at heart. Everything she did was because she believed it would aid the people she was sworn to protect. It also helped that she was sensible, loyal, and rational.

The group's other noble, Vivienne, was as self-serving as Trevelyan. Hell, all the companions were, to some degree, yet the courtier-mage took it to a finely practiced level. What made her less offensive than Trevelyan was that firstly, she wasn't in charge, and secondly, she didn't try to appear more than she was. She was powerful, dangerous, difficult, and rude, but it was obvious. The courtier drew people to her that wanted a dangerous, difficult ally, not because she was a shmoozing asshole who wanted to be worshiped.

All of that meant she spent a lot of time asking Varric questions, or using Bull as a wall between herself and Trevelyan. Like she was right then, despite wanting to be in front. Even her bouncing curiosity of what Marian Hawke actually looked like couldn't put her that close to him.

“Come, Ser Knight. Let the people see the two emissaries of Andraste riding side by side. It will be good for the Inquisition.” Trevelyan called back to her where she rode beside Varric.

Scowling through the thunderstorm that had refused to let up all day, she wanted to flip him off, but the ass wouldn't understand the gesture, so she didn't waste her energy. “It would if the emissaries actually liked each other.”

He huffed. “Surely, if you can find a way to get in the Ice Queen of Skyhold's bed, you can find a way to...”

Whatever he was saying was lost in the hot song of blood in her ears. Epona protested the wrenched reins as she demanded a different path than the one the Inquisitor was on. It wasn't long before he caught up anyway.

“What is-”

“I am a _person,_ not a flaming tool! So are all of your companions here.”

Aristocratic lips opened.

“This is not the Orlesian court!” She snapped at Vivienne before she could comment. “And we are not playing that damned Game.” Whipping back to the Inquisitor, “I don't like you. You're not even a particularly good leader. No one is here because they want to follow Maxwell Trevelyan.” She pointed a stabbing finger at his left hand. “We're here because you have that, and you're a fine warrior, and you didn't leave Thedas to Corypheus' tender care, and _someone_ needed to be in charge. Those are your only saving graces. If you'd stop pretending otherwise, maybe...” Fiery steam faded, she was at a loss for words.

There was the sound of the rain crashing through trees, growling thunder, and their mounts shifting. Varric scratched at his head. “I think what she's saying is that we want a leader who isn't all about power and posterity. We'd like to follow a person.”

Fueled by his statement, Sydney found a better argument. “If we wanted what you're turning into, we'd throw in the towel and bow to the Elder One.”

Time slowed. It was one of those moments in life where the next decision would shape lives. The first time she had experienced this was the day she and her mom had been out for a walk on the pier, and she'd asked her mom if they could move away. Every second until her mother nodded was ingrained her. Five seagulls had taken flight at the passage of a little fishing trawler. The sky had been hazy, the light like that of a camera filming a horror movie, making everything indistinct and grainy.

Here, the sky had suddenly cleared. Glaring morning sun was beating on Trevelyan's armor, the embossed emblem of the Inquisition in his chestpiece flashing light into her eyes. The chill of the night hadn't quite dissipated from the spring air. Everything stank of campfire and horse. Sydney realized that Trevelyan had the biggest Adam's apple she'd ever seen. It bobbed up and down.

“You think I'd become that?” That he actually sounded hurt, maybe a little scared, encouraged her.

“If you don't learn to act less like a slaver and more like a leader.” Sydney affirmed.

His mount edged a little closer, and his voice lowered to a whisper. “How do I do that?”

How did leaders behave? She could say a dozen things they didn't do. Unsure, she found her eyes studying his. They were uncertain, worried, looking for answers, and she found it humbling that he was looking to _her_ for those answers. “This is a good start. A humble leader is always appealing.”

“Humble?” He balked.

“Wasn't Divine Justinia known for her humble grace?” She asked. “I've been told,” bringing up Leliana wasn't such a great idea, “That her strength of character and iron will were equally matched by her graciousness and faith, and that's why she was so well loved.”

Quietly, he sat there, staring at her. He twisted in the saddle and sought out Cassandra, raising his voice to be heard. “Seeker, you admired the late Divine greatly, did you not?”

“Of course,” was her immediate answer.

“Why? What made her so,” he glanced at Sydney, “Well loved?”

Cassandra leaned back in her saddle, her expression shifting, though somehow remaining in its usual 'I eat steel for breakfast' pose. “She was,” a breath, “Strong in her faith, always staying true to what she thought to be right. The Divine fought for peace in Thedas as adamantly as she did harmony in her own house.”

Were they going to get through his thick skull? Could he actually turn out to be a decent guy, a good leader? Sydney's heart jumped a little as she watched his thoughtful expression.

“Do you think,” his eyes twitched around the company, then the ground. Slowly, his chest filled, and he let out a sigh. “Do you think that if I learned to be humble and gracious that you would respect me more?”

Gunpowder black eyes pierced Sydney with laser intensity. They went back to Trevelyan, and Cassandra drew as erect and statuesque in the saddle as possible. “Yes.”

From beside her, a grumble of agreement came from Blackwall. Bull started laughing. “Everyone likes a little pat on the back now and then, Inquisitor. It never hurts to give credit where it's due.”

No one else spoke, but no one disagreed.

“Give me a way to start.” He sounded resigned.

YES! Sydney cheered inwardly.

“Every soul prefers to feel important.” Vivienne said. “As the Iron Bull noted, it is good to let others know when they help.”

Trevelyan swallowed, met each of his companions' gazes in turn, finished with Sydney. “Sharing credit for victory and defeat?”

“Victory, definitely. Defeat...” Sydney silently pleaded for help.

“Usually sounds like you're blaming someone. That's bad.” To the rescue came Varric. “Maybe only do that if there's discipline to be handed out or something. I'm sure the Seeker here will be happy to tell you when someone needs a turn at digging the latrine pit. She's useful and scary like that.”

His clever wit got a few chuckles and finished dispelling the group's tension. If that dwarf had been a woman, she'd have the biggest crush on him. As it was, she already clung to him like a leech. Sydney glanced in Crestwood's direction. “Sorry I yelled at you.”

Trevelyan started to respond, stopped, nodded. “I was out of line in my comment about Sister Nightingale. My father treated his underlings in this manner, and so this is what I thought to be proper. But, this discussion has been enlightening. My father was not a popular man. The Divine was renowned even in Nevarra, and few in Skyhold speak poorly of you.”

She was popular? Sydney's thoughts derailed. Wait, was he comparing her to Justinia, someone who people like Cassandra had been willing to die for? Clicking, he ushered his horse back in the direction of Crestwood. The others fell behind him again, several giving Sydney expressions of gratitude or approval. Sera eased next to her with her typically mischievous grin. “That was brilliant. Oh, I've been waiting to 'ear someone take that bloated git down a notch or two.”

As usual, her voice was a bit grating, and Sydney squirmed under the attention. She'd slowly been getting used to the thick British-like dialect and the wiggly way the elf talked, but Sera was an odd one that was best after a couple pints. In Sydney's own belly. Drunk Sera was on a level of worse that Sydney could never get drunk enough to handle. “Thanks.”

“This is turning out to be a fine trip, innit?” Sera went on. “All full of lovely bashing and getting along.”

“Speaking of.” Sydney jumped on the first idea she had to escape. “I'm going to ride beside him.”

“Oh, right. Gotta give the pup a treat for good behavior. Smart. Go on then.”

“Bye.” Epona trotted faster, adding evidence to Sydney's ongoing theory that she was as smart as a person. “Sera's got a point, doesn't she?”

Epona rolled an eye back, nodded.

“What kind of treats does our Inquisitor like and how to I get them?” She murmured.

Whistling, Epona brushed by Varric, making him lean away from her antlers. “Hey, watch it, Tiger. Those things are dangerous.”

“Sorry!” Scratching between flicking ears, Sydney whispered. “Good idea. I'll ask him later.”

When they were walking beside the lead horse, Trevelyan eyed her.

“Give the people a united front, right?” She offered.

The way he sat a little higher, his features brightened, she felt like she'd just tossed a puppy a treat. Maker, what had her life become? Maker? She was swearing to the Maker now?


	9. Suck on a Foot

 

“ _Commonality is merely a beginning, but it's an important one. We must learn to think beyond our own wants, to secure peace in Thedas.”_

_-Ambassador Josephine Montilyet_

* * *

 

 

One whole hour. Maybe. That's how long the rain had left them alone. It had come back, if possible, even heavier, harder, and wetter. They'd dismounted, not willing to risk their mounts' ankles in the muddy hills. Unease chewed at the back of Sydney's mind. Every plodding, sucking, slippery footfall was giving her a headache. She wanted nothing more than to take another path, preferably one that led to a dry, warm tavern. A mile later, they stumbled over a minor rift.

Minor, but with several dozen lesser demons and three despair demons. That's what Trevelyan told Sydney later. She had been their first and most vulnerable target. Under the weight of their influence she dropped to her knees, all of her uncertainties, fears, losses, and anxieties suddenly at the fore of her mind, crushing her spirit, dismissing hope and the will to live. She took her sword and pressed it to her own throat.

Sera kicking her in the head saved her life.

When she was shaken from unconsciousness, she trembled uselessly, tears streaming down her face. She'd only contemplated suicide once before in her life. Right after her dad had died. For an entire month, she'd gone to the seaside cliffs immediately after school and stared down at the frigid Atlantic waters. Joining her dad would have been easy. Quick. Painless. If the rocks didn't end her, the waves would have taken her under and filled her lungs with frigid water, never letting her back to the surface. She would have been okay with that.

Going home and seeing her mom as a mirror of her grief had eventually convinced her to take the hard route. Stay alive. Stay with her mom, help her through the pain and sadness. Live to see the summer again.

The despair demons had brought those old memories up and combined them with every bad thing that had happened to her since. She hadn't had a chance to even consider fighting. Lying in the mud, she sobbed in terror of that happening again.

“It's alright, Tiger. We took care of the demons.” Gravel voice gentle, Varric squatted beside her, placed a hand on her shoulder.

Sydney blinked, blurted out, “But what about next time?!”

“S'alright. I'm okay to put my boot to your head again.” Sera shrugged.

Her headache heartily disagreed. “Let's not.”

“This is the first time I've seen the demons converge on a single target with such immediacy.” Alongside Varric, Trevelyan knelt.

On his right, Solas leaned on his staff, his eyes piercing into Sydney. Questions burned between his pointy ears.

“This is troublesome. She is a liability if she cannot withstand the demons, even worse that they were drawn to her.” Vivienne's lips were pressed hard together.

_“Trust the fire.”_

“What about it?” Sydney asked.

“It means, my dear, that we will have to send you back to Skyhold if this happens again.” The courtier-mage patronized.

Confused, Sydney peered at the people around her. Gradually, she came to the conclusion that none of them had mentioned the fire. Andraste was talking to her again. Her head sank into her hand. How about you talk to me about going home? She tried asking.

“Think her brain's a bit scrambled, yea?” Sera yawned and scratched her stomach.

Varric sighed. “Well, Buttercup, you did kick her rather hard.”

“It was that or let them hope-suckers get 'er, right?” was her retort.

“Your boots would be better used going up Cor-”

“Shut up, the both of you,” Sydney’s headache barked.

Annoyance was quickly replaced by sympathy on Varric. “Sorry, Tiger.”

Trevelyan held out his hand, a small wad of plant in it. “For the pain. Chew it for a while.”

It wasn't elfroot, but it did help, and it gave her something to focus on besides terror as they remounted and continued their journey. At the next flicker of a green light, Sydney didn't hesitate, she summoned the flames. Right through an icy spear and into another despair demon, it burned. She felt a tickle, a repeat of earlier that morning, and screamed.

A barrier of white fire went up around her, and the madness receded. Panting, she reached for a good memory, anything to combat the lingering darkness. Children playing in the courtyard. Their simple happiness in a safe place. Her heart steadied. She opened her eyes, peered through her fire.

Surrounding Trevelyan was a circle of their companions. He was reaching toward the rift, emerald waves of energy spiraling from his raised fist into it. A gap appeared between him and a demon, left open by Cassandra tackling a spindly, agile demon. Another leapt through the opening. Trevelyan didn't lift his axe, and Sydney remembered battles from the game. If he broke his concentration to fight, defend himself, he'd have to start all over again. Damn frustrating in gameplay, but she'd learned to rely on the AIs to defend her avatar while it was helpless.

That was what Trevelyan did. He trusted his allies to defend him while he closed the rift. And one of them did. Cole slipped in and gutted the attacker just in time. Sera's arrows hamstrung another that was about to leap Bull from behind, then had its skull caved in by him. Vivienne incinerated another. Blackwall bashed with his shield. Varric taunted and threw traps. Dorian was yawning, his platoon of undead warriors doing the dirty work for him.

Sydney hid behind her fire. The only useless member of the party.

When they were looking for a place to make camp, they were ambushed by a group of red templars. Without hesitation, Trevelyan put himself between the equivalent of red lyrium bullets and Sera. He worked nearly seamlessly with his team. There was absolute trust among them. From Vivienne's side, Sydney watched the battle finish without herself being involved at all. Truthfully, she was ignored by everyone. Even the enemy.

She did manage not to shit herself. There was that. And she'd gained a new respect for Trevelyan. He might be an arrogant little brat, but he knew what he was doing on the battlefield and his people trusted him implicitly there. She could even learn from him. Not that she had any intention of telling him that any time soon.

 

Overlooking the uncovered village below the current Village of Crestwood, the party moaned.

“No.” Shaking her head, walking backward, Vivienne groaned. “No. I am not going down in that muck!”

Soaked from the eternal downpour, unnerved by the lightning in both sky and water, Sydney heartily agreed with the prissy Orlesian. Trevelyan could have the freshly drained acres of mud and slimy rock covered in limp water weeds to himself.

“Old Crestwood was built on solid rock. Look, all of the stone paths are still there.”

“Uh. No.” Positioning Bianca safely on his shoulder, Varric agreed with Vivienne. “There's enough mud down there to drown me. Two feet of the stuff, and I'm useless.” He made a waving motion, his flat hand parallel to the ground at his waist. Two feet was half of his total. “I'll stay up here with Iron Lady. You need me watching your escape route anyway. What if someone decides they _liked_ their old village drowned?”

Wet mud and dark caves and slimy places full of demons and walking, rotting, stinking corpses... Sydney scrambled for an excuse to stay away from them. “I, uh...”

“The bearer of the holy flames isn't afraid of the dark, is she?” Trevelyan taunted her.

Hell yes! Who in their right mind wou-

“Let's go squish some zombies.” Bull practically squealed, his features giddy. “Come on, little firefly, I'll need you close if Dorian passes out.”

“I probably will,” Dorian agreed. “That stench is powerful, even worse than yours, Bull.”

“Ha. Ha. You ready yet, Syd?” Giant fingers clamped on her shoulder and propelled her forward. “Great! I knew I could count on you.”

Ugh.

They weren't a few yards on the path when Sydney found herself falling sideways, feet going up into the air. Someone tried to catch her. They ended up in the mud with her.

 

“I was trying to avoid you.” Dorian groaned as he swiped goop off his face. “Not help. Maker, Sydney, could you fall by yourself next time?”

 

 

Climbing out of the hell pit, Sydney felt a little bit better about her role as knight. Dorian _had_ passed out, and she'd lit the underground passage up like a party until fresh torches were lit and the Tevinter mage's cracked skull was healed. Also, she'd cut down two zombies all by herself. She felt like a fucking rock star for all of five seconds. Then her boots full of mud, and worse, got her stuck in a hole, and Bull had to lift her out of it, all the while laughing at the zombie guts she had in her hair.

 

Halfway up a hill, Sydney felt like her hair was buzzing, like she wanted to dive into a hole and hide. There was plenty of cover available nearby, but no obvious reason to take it. She stared around, listened, tried to quiet her mind, figure out what was whispering to her of danger.

“Sydney!” Yelled Sera, nearly in her ear.

“GAH!” She shrieked, startled enough that she jumped sideways and fell out of the saddle. The ground came up hard and jacked into her shoulder, hip, head. When her head stopped ringing, all she could hear was laughter, that deep, heavy baritone booming out of Bull, echoed by Dorian, Varric and Sera.

“Gone a bit deaf, 'ave you?” Sera snickered.

Boots hit the dirt, a hand reached out. Cole. The disconcerting, but oddly gentle spirit. Literally a spirit who looked like, _was_ , a teenage boy. He had once told her that he liked to listen to her. “You hear something. Whispers of truth. Danger.”

Letting the boy help her, she nodded.

“What's the danger?” Trevelyan demanded. So far, he'd been doing a pretty good job of trying to be a better leader, listening to the advice of his companions, giving the rare, though well-spoken compliment.

Sydney blushed. “I don't know.”

“Great. That's helpful. Can't you be a little more vague?” Varric joked.

Eagerly, Solas was leaning in her direction, his thirst for knowledge of the arcane clear. Vivienne busied herself with her nails. So did Dorian, his own nails that is. Blackwall was unreadable, and Sydney remembered that Grey Wardens could hear darkspawn and the archdemon when there was one. The Calling. She swallowed and hurriedly focused on someone else. On Cassandra's face, Sydney could see her wanting to scoff and be done with it. Her gaze shot to the sword, though, and she sighed. “Be quiet, Varric. Let her concentrate.”

“Oh, fine, Seeker. Always ruining the fun with your serious thoughts.” He grumbled good-naturedly, winked at Sydney. All of that drama hadn't helped. She felt a good case of stage fright coming on, nerves and sweating, feeling foolish and disoriented.

“Calm yourself, traveler. Do not worry of their opinions.” Like a security blanket, Cole's voice wrapped around her. Epona snuffled at her ear, made her giggle as her hairy snout tickled.

At once, the whispers painted a somewhat clear picture. “From above, that way.” She pointed down the path they were on. “We should leave the mounts.”

Whistling quietly, Epona nodded her great head. Well into spring, and she still had her antlers. Amazing.

“I agree.” Cole gathered up the reins of his horse.

Sydney expected rows of arguments, of being called an abomination, a liar, or simply being laughed at. Trevelyan, quickly followed by Cassandra, then the others, dismounted and led his skittish dracolisk off the path. The easy trust struck her as sharply as a blow to the head. Epona's gentle tug on her sleeve was what drove her to join them and grab essential gear from the saddle bags. Weapons were strapped on, then the mildly chatting group fell in behind the Inquisitor and resumed their path toward the cave where Hawke was supposed to be meeting them at.

Ten minutes down the muddy trail, a great shadow passed over them. Lightning erupted around a hastily cast mage barrier. Sydney watched Varric's hair stand on end, giving him a blonde fro. “Never ignore Tiger's voices!” He yelled. “It's apparently a bad idea.”

He readied bolts for Bianca that glittered with frost magic, took aim and launched them at the high dragon that had landed and howled a teeth-rattling challenge.

 

Turning to the north, where storm clouds boiled, Leliana sighed. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't stop thinking about Sydney. Music had begun to burn a different song in her heart, one of loneliness, darkness, and betrayal. She worried for the woman who she had rejected. Guilt and regret ate at her conscience. She hated herself for the pain she had caused the strong, enticing woman.

She rose and went to the chapel, glad it was empty in the late evening. Kneeling and lighting a candle, she prayed. “Andraste, forgive me. I was foolish to indulge in my selfishness, to think you had sent her for me. It was clear when I hurt her that it wasn't true.”

Wind snuck into the chapel and blew out the candle, but it went unnoticed by the woman too busy closing herself off from the world.

 

“Don't mind her, Hawke. Tiger here has a serious case of hero worship.” Patting his old friend on the arm, Varric tried to distract from Sydney's open-mouthed stare. It only changed when Sydney would shift to stare at Alistair, at the grumpy and sarcastic Warden he had become. Hawke's fingers rubbed at her staff.

“It's a good thing Fenris isn't here. He'd brood at her in an ugly way.” She muttered, and Varric roared in laughter.

Alistair growled and finally looked the staring woman in the eye. Whatever harsh comment had been on his lips weren't voiced. He rose and crossed the width of the little cave to stand in front of her. “I'll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“Is that a smile I see, Alistair? When's the last time you made a joke?” Hawke prodded.

“Last time I saw Morrigan, probably.” He grumbled.

For his part, Trevelyan, the only other one in the cave, was silently taking in the conversation, probably still hung up on what Alistair had spoken of. The Calling having been hijacked by Corypheus and all that scary crap. Belatedly, Sydney blinked. “Uh. Show you what?”

He pulled a battered sword from an equally battered sheath. Smoldering red, the blade hummed with flame and anti-darkspawn enchantment. “Cousland struck down the archdemon with this blade.”

Wow. “You still carry it. Isn't it painful?” Her mouth spoke without her permission.

“Yes.” He said.

A sudden urge to kneel before the guy who could've been the dead Warden or King of Ferelden, had different paths been chosen, made Sydney twitch. “Sorry. My mouth...”

“Decided to suck on your foot. Yes. It happens to everyone at least once, a whole lot to other people. Used to happen to me regularly, until months of verbal sparring with Morrigan taught me a little think first, retort later.” Alistair allowed generously. “May I see Andraste's Fire now?”

“As long as there's no swooping.” She huffed, bit her lip when she heard Alistair's sharp inhale.

He chuckled. Briefly. “Leliana's been telling you stories, I see.”

If only. To cover her slip, she drew her sword, held it out to shine in the torchlight. Its runes were dark and cold, the blade as unmarred as the day she had found it. The only signs of wear were mud, a spear of grass, blood.

“It looks brand new and utterly normal.” He sounded disappointed.

Sydney called on a small flame to dance along the glowing runes. Then another and another. Over each other, they leap-frogged.

After watching for a span, he huffed. “I expected it to be green.” He switched to Trevelyan. The Inquisitor obligingly pulled off his riding glove and exposed the shimmering emerald slash in his palm. Alistair's finger twitched as though he wanted to poke it.

“The fires in the temple were normal looking. Orange and such.” Alistair looked into the Inquisitor's eyes. “I heard that the urn and Her ashes were destroyed.”

“No one found a trace of them.” For the second time, Sydney heard Trevelyan's voice falter. “All they found was me.”

Lines formed on Alistair's face. His gaze switched between Trevelyan and Sydney, went glassy. Ostagar. He and the Hero were the only survivors of that fateful battle. Well, not exactly, there were some, but no Wardens. Alistair would understand the survivor's guilt that Sydney abruptly wondered if Trevelyan felt. The man had had family at the Conclave, hadn't he?

“Welcome to Ferelden, where all the best stories begin and end with tragedy.” Alistair sighed and moved away, the conversation ended, the group clearly dismissed.

 

Enormously large, heavy boots clomped into the bird filled room. Iron Bull kicked the door to the outside shut. “I had to handle some deals with other mercenary groups anyway, so the Inquisitor sent me ahead with these.” His baritone dropped to the quietest whisper he could manage. “Might want to look at that in private.”

A blood-stained leather tube was handed over. Leliana looked at it, set it on her desk. “Thank you. How did the mission go?”

“Oh, great.” His grin was positively feral. “We got to kill a dragon!”

Claws sank into her heart. Her immediate worry was over Sydney, and she struggled not to ask about the woman she was refusing to fall for. “Dragon?”

“Oh yea,” his timbre was that of a man being stroked. “Big, nasty mother. She almost ate me. If my sword wasn't so big, she would've.” Thoroughly pleased with his near-death experience he laughed. “You should have seen the Inquisitor! He somehow managed to get himself on her back and _really_ made her mad. Good distraction though, kept her on the ground. But the gem of the day was Syd.”

Leliana waited for him to explain. His grin widened, nearly to his big, shiny, black horns. Oh, damn him, he was waiting for her to ask! Giving her best get-on-with-it glare, she did. “And?”

“She made the most fantastic puddle of piss when the dragon roared, then she passed out in it.” His laugh was incredibly amused, even more so because he'd gotten her to ask about Sydney. Enduring rumors about the Sister Nightingale and her Knight were always popular at the tavern where he spent most of his off time. “She did hold it together just fine around the undead and demons, but I guess dragons aren't her thing. Anyway, the others won't be back for at least another week, probably two. Cassandra insisted on hunting down templars around the Stormy Coast.”

 

By the candle's light, Leliana opened the scroll that Bull had delivered. She was indeed grateful for the privacy of her personal chambers, because she swore loud enough to surprise herself. Sleep did not come to her that night. Calm evaded her all the next day. Terror infused more than one of her agents.

There was a traitor in their ranks. It was to be expected, and she shouldn't have been so affected. Continuing reports from Val Royeaux, and the idea that the traitor might work for Marjolaine, even though she was sure it was actually the Venatori, made her more than a little crazy. Super angry, in a cold, stony, ready to slit the first person's throat who looked at her wrong, kind of crazy. She wished that the Inquisitor's party was back. Training with Sydney would help her burn off some of her mania. The exercise. Sydney's smile had nothing to do with that wish.

 

 


	10. Horse Shit

 “ _Someone little always hates someone big. And unless you don't eat, sleep, or piss, you're never far from someone little.”_

_-Sera, Friend of Red Jenny_

* * *

 

 

Before Sydney's sleepy brain caught up to what her automaton body had done, she was on the ramparts at dawn with her sword and buckler. She watched the sunrise paint the sky and her gloves in shimmering gold. How many sunrises had she seen in Thedas now? How many more would she see before a red templar or a demon or a lucky bandit managed to remove her head from her body? The shininess of being in a video game was officially long gone. Being a hero, killing people, and running for her life... She'd trade it all to go back to the cruise ship and serve grandparents on vacation again.

Her moments of melancholy were interrupted by quiet footsteps. Leliana. “Teacher.” She set the mood of how she would interact with the woman.

Smooth, expressionless, Leliana's face didn't betray a single thought. “Student. Show me what you've learned.” Like grease, she slid into a battle stance, dagger appearing in her hand.

Liquid grace. That was Leliana in a fight. Of all the people and creatures that Sydney had fought over the past couple of weeks, hell, that she'd _seen_ someone else fight, maybe a handful were in this woman's league. She herself was definitely nowhere near it.

Slipping in under her guard, Leliana placed the sharp, cold blade to the underside of her jaw. In the breath that she paused there, Sydney could see the ribbons of blues in her eyes. The scent of leather and springtime and bird floated around them. She flashed to a night wrapped up in it, when those eyes had been warm. How had that ended so badly?

“You've improved. Good.” Leliana dropped back, stood several feet away, studying her. “Why did you not use the flames?”

“If I used them in every fight, I wouldn't survive a day walking around Thedas next to the Inquisitor. They still use up a lot of my energy.” An eye roll. “And he gets in a lot of fights.”

“I see.” Leliana nodded in thought. Sydney waited for critique, but it didn't come. “Did you only use the sword in fights? What of other weapons?”

There were a few embarrassing times that she'd lost her sword, been disarmed, injured. “Once, when mage-fire hit me, my right arm was useless and my wood shield was ash. I held the sword with my left. Maker, that was awkward, but well, I'm alive.”

Pale features creased ever so slightly. “Did the sword not deflect the fire?”

“When it was in my hand, sure.”

“You dropped your sword at some point, then retrieved it after you were injured.”

“Yep.”

“Tell Cullen that you must be taught how to fight with your off hand.”

Why not you? You're the dual-blade expert. “But, you're the expert.”

Leliana sighed. “Yes, but sword and shield are different.”

From the corner of her eye, Sydney could see movement in the lower courtyard. Trevelyan was meeting with one of the tutors that his advisers had set him up with. “On that note, why are you and Cullen teaching me? You got tutors for the Inquisitor, and I'm not more important than him.” She didn't bother looking at Leliana, knowing the only change in her face would be the angle of the sun.

“The Inquisitor's tutors are in addition to the sessions we have with him.” Leliana said.

Having moved to stand beside her, looking down as well, her face was perfectly hidden by the cowl. Damned shadows and secrecy. “You didn't answer my question.”

“I cannot answer for the general. As for me, I've never had reason to teach my skills before, and I'm finding that teaching the basics is refreshing my own ability to fight.” Nothing at all to do with enjoying her company or even wanting the best for the bloody Inquisition.

“Okay, then I'll keep pulling my ass out of bed before sunrise. We done for the day or did you want more exercise?” Sydney asked through her teeth. “My ribs healed a while ago, so I should be good as long as you don't lose control.”

What might have been hurt flashed across Leliana's features. Anger quickly covered it, then was pushed away and hidden behind a mask of indifference. “No. That's enough for today. I will see you tomorrow.”

 

“It's 'cause we're knife ears, innit?” Choppy blonde suddenly in her face, Sydney swayed backward.

“What?”

Sera snarled up at her. “Y'always blowin' me off, findin' ways to skirt round me. En you treat Solas like he'll dunk you in red lyrium.”

“Oh.” Yea. That sounded about right. “It's not because you're elves.”

Having expected a denial of a different sort, Sera was tongue-tied for a moment. “So, you just don't like us then, that it?”

“Kind of.” Mostly you, Sera. Solas, well, he was too curious about other worlds, and he took mystical-wizard-type to heights that Tolkien would've been proud of. It was too unnerving.

“Kinda? What kinda answer is that?” Sera pouted. At least she wasn't angry anymore.

From one hip to the other, Sydney shifted, looked for an escape.

“No dancin' away from me this time. I want answers. This week's been too boring, and this is the best excitement I've had all day.”

Sydney groaned as Sera's voice pitched, just on the underside of nails-on-chalkboard. “It's your voice. It hurts, okay?”

Sera's mouth opened and nothing came out for a full minute. “Oh. Fair enough, I s'pose. What 'bout Solas then?”

“He looks at me like he does Trevelyan.”

The blonde grinned at her. “Like the Fade's about to pop outta your nose, huh? Yea, that'd weird me out too. Want to go pranking with me? I promise loads of quiet time as we'll be sneaking about.”

“Pranking? As in hiding buckets of water on doors?”

“Right. Inky won't, and you're the next best in terms of important type people. This place needs some fun, things other'n death and Corypheus and blah blah boring to think about. Having one of you doin' stuff like hiding all the quills and ink will make little people laugh.” She grinned wildly.

Maybe another reason she hadn't liked Sera was because the elf reminded her of her weird roommate, and her habits of playing rude jokes that usually ended up with Sydney having to buy new clothes. The only reason she put up with Melissa was because in every other way, she was trustworthy. And she cleaned, sometimes cooked. It was nice to come home to a place that was lived in after weeks at sea. Fine, there was more than one reason she stayed roommates. Maybe Sera could have other positive aspects too.

“And by the looks of you, you could use a bit of fun as well.” For a brief moment, the rogue was serious, sympathy quieting her tones.

“Alright. I'm in.”

“Yes!”

They skulked about Skyhold, booby-trapping the door to Josephine's office, making Cullen's desk wobble the tiniest bit, smearing honey on Cassandra's armor, replacing Varric's ink with beet juice, and painting Trevelyan's axe yellow and red. Leliana's office, being full of messenger birds, agents constantly in and out, and the woman herself, had yet to be sabotaged. Standing about, quietly brainstorming and watching from the safety of an upper tavern window, they grew giddy when the spymaster left her office and crossed paths with a fuming Josephine. Dripping, coiffed hair plastered to her head, she looked ready to boil someone alive.

Leliana giggled, smiled briefly as Josephine stomped away, loudly calling for someone to tell her where Sera was

“Stuff her boots with horse shit,” muttered Sydney.

“You en Miss Secrets not on good terms anymore, eh?”

Sydney leveled her best glare on her partner in crime.

“Get off it. All of Skyhold knows that she invited you to her bed.” Sera threw her hands out. “What 'appened? She got weird tastes?”

Glaring seemed the only appropriate response.

“Or do you?”

“Yes. That's it. She kicked me out when she found out I like nugs in the bedroom,” was her exasperated huff.

Nose wrinkling, Sera leaned away. “Really? Ugh. You are an odd sort.” They watched Josephine enter the tavern. “S'no business of mine, but if you ask me, whatever she did was probably because she's scared of whatever you want from her.”

Sydney gawked at her. Had reasonable advice just come out of Sera's mouth?

“You!” Ambassador Montilyet's nearby shout of outrage had them whirling around. Her eyes went a little wider when they took in Sydney. “And you?!”

Sera's thrilled laughter was immediate, and she smacked Sydney's arm, nodding toward the exit. On her heels, Sydney ran from noble indignation. Safely across the courtyard, through a few doors, and clutching their sides from laughter, they stopped in the safety of a quiet corridor. “Just one uppity left to do. Still want to stuff her boots?”

“Damn right.”

 

Finding frozen horse manure in her boots was too immature, too ridiculous, that Leliana had first accused Sera, then one of her younger agents who had a serious crush on her, then another who had a grudge with her. She had moved on to the children of Skyhold before finding out that it had been Sera, with Sydney. The fury, the hurt, she felt from the petty prank was too much. She confronted Sydney when they met at sunrise.

As she waited for Sydney to respond to her polite demand for an answer, she noticed a distinct change in the foreign woman. The shiny-soft innocence had fled her eyes, had been thrust out as only killing and death can do.

“You're right. It was terribly immature.” Sydney finally said. “I heard a few of your agents making toasts to it in the tavern last night. They aren't the types to smile often. It was a nice change on them.”

Not an ounce of apology or remorse came from the woman. She didn't even smile. It almost made what Leliana said next easier.

“I'm sorry, I just can't get involved in a relationship. The Inquisition must come first.” Leliana stated her carefully thought out reasoning, although she delivered in a hotter tone than intended. Sydney's expression grew darker, her eyes harder. “I appreciate what you've tried t-”

“Giving up, hiding still, yea? Maker, Leliana, you're such a fucking coward. You aren't the only one who's ever been used, manipulated, and left behind like a bag of shit.” Sydney threw her hands out, her voice stretched in fury. “Fine. You're too scared to take a chance with me. Then do us both a favor and just don't bother with anything at all. This fake, nice-person thing you've been trying, shove it up your ass.”

Though Leliana had immediately left, she'd come back the next morning, her fury and pain stashed in a righteously clenched jaw and dangerous energy. She didn't lash out, instead channeling her emotions into the lessons. Sydney was coolly professional, a model for the people who sometimes watched. Every bruise was accepted as stoically as Cassandra.


	11. Dance with Me

 “ _Master Haritt says that without more ore, we won't be able to get more blades for the recruits.”_

“ _Tell Master Haritt that ore doesn't grow on trees.”_

“ _Yes, ma'am. I think he knows, ma'am. He talked about how we have to dig it up.”_

_-Master Haritt's messenger and Haven's quartermaster_

* * *

 

 

Traveling across the countryside went a lot faster when there weren't rifts to close, rogue mages and templars to chase, dragons to fend off, or helpless villagers to rescue. They made the trip to the Winter Palace in Halamshiral in only two days. Latest quest: hunt down an assassin at Empress Celene's ball. Blend in, make some new political allies. All while wearing an itchy, stupid, too hot outfit.

“The Lady Sydney, Knight of the Inquisition.” The poor announcer seemed almost distraught that there were no following titles, accolades, or stories of origin for her. After having been rushed through Cassandra's royal heritage and parade of names, Sydney's simple designation scandalized him. The battle against Leliana and Josephine _and_ Cullen to name her otherwise had been intense, but she had won. Trevelyan had helped.

“You are lucky.” The princess herself muttered.

Sydney replied just as quietly, “How is that?”

“You don't have a family history that everyone in Thedas can call history.” Cassandra complained.

“A perk of being swept away from home by a prophet.” She answered glibly and immediately regretted. Actually admitting that Andraste had sent her wasn't supposed to happen, hence why she'd insisted on being named 'Knight of the Inquisition' instead of 'Andraste's Knight.'

“Are you never going to reveal yourself to us, Lady Knight?” There was an equal measure of hope and distrust in Cassandra's voice.

The closest painting became suddenly quite interesting, but just as quickly, Sydney's eyes dropped to the floor. “There'd be no point. As far as this world is concerned, I never existed, and my history would be gibberish to you.”

The warrior's mouth moved. She swallowed and looked away. “Oh. Well, that is something to consider.” For Cassandra, that was fairly eloquent. “Be that as it may, perhaps sharing it with someone might help with your despair.”

Eloquence _and_ tact? Soft words weren't associated with Seeker Pentaghast, yet there they were, tumbling from her royal mouth. Sydney almost laughed, instead she almost cried. “I'll keep that in mind, Seeker.”

“Cassandra.”

“Cassandra.” Sydney echoed the offer of friendship. “Only if you call me Sydney.”

“Very well.” Just like that, friendship was cemented between them. It felt as though she'd found a new playmate in the sandbox, simple, easy, lifelong. Silly, but she had the feeling that with Cassandra, it was heartfelt and true. The warrior shifted uneasily in her restricting finery. “Let us get on with the weary business of this ball. I can't wait to get out of this starched ridiculousness.” Her unease set Sydney at ease, and she chuckled.

“Let's get to it then.”

A nod, and they parted ways. Finding herself a corner of the ballroom, Sydney watched the courtiers and guests mingle, dance, and pretend not to hate each other. At length, she cursed their ridiculous masks. They didn't hide much, but enough to make her job difficult. Her eyes eventually fell on Leliana, and she stared in awe as the former bard came alive. The woman loved the drama of the court, the intrigue of the Great Game. A gaggle of women cut off her view. Her attention shifted to an idiot with a corset so tight that the woman inside its grip was turning blue. Sydney was all for a corset now and again. The way it could shape a bust, hips, could be delicious. Not getting enough oxygen to even be able to stand? Hell no. That was like wearing a pair of sexy heels until they rubbed bloody gouges in the back of the feet.

Complete turn off.

Sydney liked her heels how she liked her women, beautiful _and_ capable of everyday life. Like Leliana. She threw away the old idea that in her world, Leliana would be a follower of petty reality TV that featured people with nothing better to do than ruin each others lives. No. Leliana would be more of a spy series or political news junkie. Or a silly soap opera follower.

“Lady Nightingale is quite the flower, isn't she?” A courtier hummed in thickly accented Ferelden as he slipped near. “Distractingly beautiful, with a scent quite rare and exotic, standing out even among a garden of the rarest breeds.”

“Are you asking to be introduced? I should warn you that even though she might smell like Andraste's Grace, she has more in common with the Blood Lotus.” Sydney gave him a sideways glance.

Behind his silver mask, the middle-aged man chuckled. “No. No. I made her acquaintance in years past when she used to play and sing.” He faced her fully, his pale green eyes finally visible. “Mentioning the woman who you've been watching for the past five minutes was an excuse to make _your_ acquaintance, Lady Knight.”

She steeled herself for posturing or flirting or whatever he was about to throw at her.

“I am-” his name and rank blurred together, along with the pleasantries and verbal jousting as he tried to gain favor with Andraste's Knight.

“Ah, Lord Favreau. It has been many years.” The silken tones of Leliana's voice broke into the conversation.

Graciously pleasant, the noble greeted her with a mild dip of his neck. With his eyes off of her, Sydney freely stared at the garish amount of jewels decorating his chest. “Lady Nightingale. A pleasure to see you again. I don't suppose that you would honor the court tonight with your voice?”

“I'm afraid not, my lord. I only sing for private audiences now.” Leliana declined.

The way the man's eyes shot to Sydney and gave her a fresh look-over, made her wish she'd been watching Leliana instead. What sort of expression or gesture had she missed? Why was the spymaster standing so close? Was there danger? “Quite the shame, but at least your voice is not completely lost to the world.”

Feeling naked without her sword, though she had a slim dagger stowed under her stiff costume, Sydney looked for signs of the assassin while they continued speaking. Him thanking her for her company and sliding into the crowd surprised her. She looked to Leliana for an explanation. “What was that about?”

Her exposed neck, something Sydney hadn't seen in weeks, was flushed a light pink. Agreeing with the too-warm room, Sydney tugged at her own collar.

“Lord Favreau's taste for exotic flowers is well known. He likes to collect them.” Leliana glanced at her, but her attention quickly returned to the crowd. “What did he compare you to? Prophet's Laurel, no? Rare, beautiful, heals even the worst ailments, perhaps broken hearts? The man has been using flowery words, and yes, pun intended, to lure women to his bed for years.”

“So, you fell for it once?” Sydney asked, though it gave her an unpleasant mental image.

“I have made many mistakes in my past, but he was not one of them.” Her laughter was soft, charming. “His younger brother, on the other hand...”

But Sydney didn't care to hear about former trysts. “What brought you over here, Lady Nightingale? A message from the Inquisitor? Has he figured out who's behind the plot?”

Leliana's smile faltered, and she turned to her with little lines between her eyebrows. “No. No message, not yet.”

Had she just wanted to find a new place to stand? “Then why are you talking to me?”

“Would you rather I have left you to deal with him by yourself?” She retorted.

Wait. Did she think she had been rescuing her? “You aren't the only woman who's capable of rejecting someone. Some of us can even do it gracefully.” She seethed. “If you'll excuse me, I'm going to find a drink.”

Almost-panic in a single hushed word caught at her. “Wait.” Leliana actually reached out, though her hand didn't make contact. It was drawn back to her side. That would have been highly inappropriate in such esteemed company. Her lip was sucked in, and her eyes flitted around. They were the center of more than a few nobles' attention. It wasn't the kind that the former bard would want, not when her position in the Great Game could be affected.

Sydney caught movement at the other end of the ballroom. Trevelyan was trying to sneak away. For the sake of their mission, she didn't leave Leliana standing there. She stayed to gather more attention from their Inquisitor. “What?”

Caught between whatever was roiling behind her stormy eyes, and the rules of propriety, Leliana stuttered. “W-would you dance with me?”

The music was currently slow, the dance a simple one. Sydney could practically _hear_ the gears moving in the spymaster's head. Sydney was a fast learner, she could probably be led through such a simple dance without completely disgracing the Inquisition. She glanced at Trevelyan and gave into the rush of desire to prove Leliana wrong. “I'd be delighted, Lady Nightingale.”

Leliana blinked at the confident reply, swallowed, but turned her hand up and offered to lead. Their feet were on the bottom steps of the stairs, a few yards away from the dance floor when the music changed, grew faster. The dancers changed position. Uncertainty flashed in Leliana's features. “We-”

Wickedly, Sydney gave her a cruel smile, spoke loud enough for others to listen. “I know it's been years since you last danced among the nobility, but surely you haven't forgotten such a _simple_ dance.” And the dance that was indicated by the waiting postures _was_ fairly simple, just fast. It could leave lesser dancers flushed and breathless. If played right, could leave them _hot_. Being among the manipulations of the court had poked at her dark streak. She wanted to make Leliana feel, dammit. Easily, she slid into position, gave a pointed look at a few courtiers eyeing the spot across from her that Leliana was expected to fill.

The woman jumped in as the music began. Floating through the steps, aware of how much easier they were with muscles trained by constant fighting, Sydney laughed throatily at the look in Leliana's eyes. She brushed a hand along hers while everyone else merely touched knuckles, pushed the boundaries at every step. Intensely, she enjoyed every second of discomposure that flushed across pale cheeks. How like the oddest skill to be useful at such a crucial event. Ballroom dancing.

Her first lesson had been on a date with a woman who hadn't been worth a second. The next year of lessons had been taken because dancing was fun, and an intriguing alternative to modern exercise. It got her a handful of extra cash now and then when she won competitions. When she'd applied for the job on the cruise ship, it had been that extra fluff on the resume that had gotten her employed. The entertainment managers loved that she could step in when the usual dance instructors took ill, or they needed an extra body in a show. She loved that it added an extra ten grand to her annual salary.

“You didn't tell me,” accused Leliana when the song ended. Breath hard, face flushed, lip chewed, the woman looked exactly how Sydney wanted her to.

“Why should I have?” Sydney challenged. There was definitely some emotion on Leliana's face, possibly hurt. Good. “Another?”

Again, the music took off, pushing them at a tempo that Sydney didn't have a problem with. This time, however, she wasn't the only one pushing boundaries. More eyes than not were watching them and their shameless display. A searing touch on her abdomen yanked her own eyes back to seas of blue. Within them, a tempest raged and threatened to drown her. By the Void, what had she gotten herself into?

Though Leliana's place had officially been lead in the previous dance, Sydney had effectively stolen it from her by surprising and besting her. This dance, Leliana was clearly in control, a predator on the dance floor, stalking, twisting, taunting. Passion flared between them, infected the rest of the dancers, pushed everyone to dizzying heights. Blood rushed in Sydney's ears, drowning out everything except those eyes, those hips, those hands that left sizzling trails wherever they touched.

She wasn't aware that the music had ended. Her body had stopped when Leliana had. An arms length apart, they panted. Boiling in her core was a hot, wet heat, and it grew only more fierce as she finally saw a crack in Leliana's walls, caught a glimpse of vulnerability. A ripple of noise rushed through the crowd. Leliana's eyes flicked away, widened.

Coming down the steps as the music reverted to a stately procession was Trevelyan, the Grand Duchess on his arm. He caught Sydney's gaze. Recognizing the message in them, she bowed, conceding the battlefield to him, and pulled Leliana from the dance floor. “There's something happening.”

Leliana pursed her lips. “Of course there is. He's dancing with the Grand Duchess. Oh, and look at them go. Can't you just feel the nobles buzzing?”

Heart still fluttering from their own dance, Sydney's eye roll was only half-hearted. Of course the former bard was more in tune with the Game than Trevelyan's battlefield signal.

“But he's not nearly as good at it as you.” There was a light in Leliana's eyes, a smile on her lips. “No one will talk, but it's obvious that you're the one who got our Inquisitor to begin taking Josephine's lessons more seriously. Almost too late, but not quite. Josie and I couldn't believe how bad his dancing was!”

“Yes.” The ambassador's voice entered their conversation. “How did you do that? After Crestwood, he came to me and apologized for slacking in his duties. He actually puts his lessons to service now. What happened out there?”

Sydney waved aside their questions. “I didn't do anything.”

“Psh. You're a terrible liar. Your strengths are in how you always manage to surprise us.” Josephine sighed, then gave Leliana a sideways grin. “How did it feel to dance with someone of your caliber again, Leliana?”

“It was wonderful.” She stared into Sydney's gaze. “I will have to ask for a repeat again sometime. Perhaps we can change our morning routine?”

There it was again, that crack of vulnerability. And this time, there was a witness, someone who Leliana also acknowledged as a friend. It gave her actions credibility, smoothed away the doubt that this was a game of the bard. Sydney made to press it, but the courtiers conceding the dance floor to the Inquisitor and his partner distracted her. There was something about the way that woman smiled that she didn't like. She looked...

Triumphant.

And Leliana's expression was falling, closing. Dammit! “Leliana,” spilled off her tongue.

Deep blue looked up at her through pale lashes, the pupils large, shocked at the intimate use of her name after so long. It hadn't fallen from Sydney's lips since _that_ night.

“When you ask, I'll dance with you again.” Did Josephine just squeal like a girl? More importantly, was Leliana smiling?

“Then I shall have to ask again soon.” She _was_ smiling. So was that Duchess, and it infuriated Sydney. Not only was the Duchess drawing her attention away from a smiling Leli, but a whisper in the back of her skull made her itch for her sword. Trevelyan bowed and made a beeline for his advisers. Cullen closed their little group as Josephine was gushing at Trevelyan about how the court would be talking about that dance for months. He had swept the crowd off its feet with that dip!

He managed a small laugh. “It was a refreshing change from fighting demons and horrors.”

“You still face demons and horrors. These ones are simply better dressed,” was Josephine's apt reply.

“Indeed.” He echoed Sydney's groan. She could smell a fight on him, but Cullen beat her with his own question about what had happened in the servants' quarters. Venatori agents, slaughtered servants and guards. Evidence that seemed to point to Gaspard and Briala. The only good bit was that they were now sure the assassination would happen tonight. Debating between saving the empress or letting her die and supporting another was sickening.

Sydney couldn't help the revulsion she felt when Leliana suggested it. Shadows passed over Leliana's face then, and she felt a gulf between them, wider than it had seemed to be only hours ago. Cullen and Trevelyan favored Gaspard as a new leader, given the man's militaristic stance. Josephine wanted the empress. Leliana voted for the elf. All they could agree on was that Orlais needed stability, and the Inquisition needed it as an ally against Corypheus. Trevelyan would have to support someone.

“What about that woman?” Sydney's voice finally entered the discussion.

“The duchess?” Asked Josephine. She started to mention what the woman could be like as empress, but Sydney waved it off.

“No. Lord Trevelyan, how did she behave? Could she be behind the assassination?”

Too knowledgeable, arrogant, dispassionate about the deaths in the palace. Typical Orlesian royalty, he summed up.

“You didn't get bad vibes off her?” She pressed. Both of their eyes found the woman on the other side of the hall, talking with her brother Gaspard.

“I did, but...” Trevelyan settled his regard on her. “You have a bad feeling, don't you?”

“Yea,” she breathed.

“Cullen, get your soldiers into position. I'm going to check out the Royal Wing as dear Florianne suggested.” He hadn't taken his sight off Sydney. “We don't need the disruption that a change in leadership would start, and Corypheus wants the empress dead. Those are good enough reasons to protect her.” He paused. “And send someone with Lady Sydney's sword.”

The enormity of what was happening settled on Sydney's shoulders. Oh hell. People were shaping empires based on her hunches now! She felt her insides crumbling under that weight as the men took off.

A hand touched her shoulder, behind it was compassion. Leliana spoke gently. “The burden of lives is a heavy one.”

“Yea.” Dark violet skirts drifted by, caught her attention. She gave them a brief glance, then a sharp double take. Above them was a confident smirk, framed by midnight black hair, and accented with golden eyes. The figure was a familiar, wild witch. “Morrigan,” puffed from her throat.

As though she could hear from thirty feet away, the enigmatic mage turned. A smile, toothy as a wolf's, appeared, and the woman glided toward them. She gave Sydney a cursory inspection, shifted it to her former companion. “Leliana.”

“Morrigan.”

Between the women, there wasn't an ounce of warmth, nostalgia, anything resembling friendship. Leliana's tone and posture was as relaxed and courteous as it had been all evening, but Sydney didn't believe it. Farther down the room, Josephine's wide eyes caught hers. For a brief moment, the ambassador looked ready to abandon her conversation with important looking people, but she smiled and returned to talking. So, Morrigan and Leliana didn't even interact at all.

Wishing she'd played the _Witch Hunt_ DLC, Sydney found questions sprouting in her head. Did Morrigan have a child? What kind of person had the Blight shaped her into? Was she an enemy? An ally? A dangerous wildcard like her mother, Flemeth? She opened herself to any suggestions from Andraste, but the whispers were silent.

Morrigan wasn't a threat. Not for the moment, at least. Sydney withdrew from her mind to find cat eyes staring at her. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood. Not a threat, but very, very unnerving.

“The Orlesian court looks to have been treating you well, Morrigan.” When had Leliana stepped closer?

If anything, the gleam in her eyes grew more wicked. Mockery and scorn grew thicker with every word. “True enough. I cannot say the same for you. How ever did they get you into something so dreadful? Those colors are all wrong for you. And those shoes! Did you let Alistair have a say in this wardrobe?”

“You are as delightful as ever. How is your son? Has he grown horns, scales, wings perhaps?”

There was the answer to the god-kid question. “Sadly, no. How disappointed you must be.”

Their bickering went on, and Sydney was enraptured. Their tongues were brutal, ripping each other apart, preying on anything and everything they knew of each other. Leliana's frame grew increasingly strained while Morrigan's remained as much like a hawk eyeing a mouse. Courtier whispers shifted around them, discussing and wagering on the former Warden's companions.

“ _Like sisters_.”

Chuckles bubbled out of Sydney. Andraste or a noble's whisper? Shrugging, she didn't care and allowed her smile to linger. She earned the ladies' regard, but it was interrupted by an approaching noble, spouting something about the unworthiness of the Inquisition's infamous Nightingale.

As easily as Morrigan ripped into Leliana, she dissected the noble, sending them scurrying away, tail between their legs. The gleam in her eyes had changed when she turned back to Leliana. “There are days when I almost miss our vibrant conversations.”

Leliana's brow rose.

Morrigan finally spoke to Sydney. “You are the one they are calling Andraste's Knight.”

On a whim, Sydney challenged herself to irritate Morrigan. It shouldn't be too hard. She smiled like she had a secret, which, to be fair, she had a few. “Oh my, you do have Orlesian manners.”

The grin shifted. “'Tis an eventuality of survival in the Orlesian court.”

“Is this the part where you tell me about your fortunes and power and ask me to lie between your legs?” Sydney canted her head. “I'll pre-empt you, and say I'm already intrigued about the great wilds, but I won't remember your name or favors promised in the morning.”

Leliana made a choking noise.

Morrigan stared.

Sydney struggled with her composure.

“The quality of your company has improved, Leliana.” The witch surprised them both.

Despite failing her private challenge, it was little effort to pull a smirk.

“Andraste's blessing,” was Leliana's reply.

An Inquisition soldier chose that moment to appear, scattering nobles and starting excited murmurs. The soldier stopped in front of Sydney. Gingerly, a gauntlet was gripping her sword belt, sheathed sword dangling from it. “Lady Knight.” And saluted when she accepted her weapon.

“Thank you.” She fastened the belt and at a buzz in the back of her skull, gripped the sword's hilt, loosened the blade in its scabbard.

Her peripherals caught Morrigan's eyes growing wide with interest, and Leliana's hand slipping into her coat.

“If you would indulge me, I would very much like to study that sword later.” Curiosity, greed, awe. They mingled in the witch's tone.

Leliana's lips thinned. “Sydney? Where is the danger?”

The Grand Duchess appeared from a shadow, her brother Gaspard at her side. They made Sydney's skin itch, but the sense of danger was broader than the siblings. She swiveled, every muscle taut, her senses on high alert. The ballroom carried on with its festivities, the empress dandied with her nobles, and the siblings meandered toward her.

“Everywhere, dammit.”

“I sense powerful magic at work. There is a battle somewhere in the palace,” offered Morrigan.

The prickling became familiar. “A rift,” hissed out of Sydney.

“You can sense it?” Morrigan demanded.

It stopped. “Trevelyan has it sealed now.” While Morrigan stared at her, and Leliana rearranged her pleasant mask, Sydney relaxed her body, forced her hand away from her sword. They waited in silence.

Dorian paraded into the ballroom, followed by Trevelyan, Varric, and Cassandra. There was blood on them. They'd made a dozen feet before Cullen was at the Inquisitor, demanding information and orders.

“Wait here, Cullen, I'm going to have a word with the Grand Duchess.” The Inquisitor said.

Unhappily, Cullen balked. “What? There's no time! The empress will begin her speech any moment!”

While Trevelyan strolled toward Florianne, the others fanned out, Dorian sidled up to them. “Ah, Lady Morrigan. I've heard quite a bit about you.”

“Likely much the same as I've heard about Tevinter magisters, Altus Dorian Pavus.”

Chuckling, Dorian smiled. “Probably.” He turned to the three advisers who now ringed Sydney. “The little cousin is working for Corypheus.”

“What happe-” Cullen stopped himself.

Across the ballroom, walking up the steps to the Grand Duchess and her brother, Trevelyan's voice reached them. “When your archers failed to kill me in the garden, I feared you wouldn't save me this dance.”

Scandalized mutters rippled through the court. Standing just above the show, Empress Celene went a little rigid. Her younger cousin looked decidedly uneasy.

“It's so easy to lose your good graces. You even framed your brother for the murder of the council emissary.”

Ooh. The Inquisitor was digging into the girl.

“It was an ambitious plan. Celene, Gaspard, the entire Council of Heralds... All your enemies under one roof.”

“This is very entertaining,” stammered Florianne. “But you do not imagine that anyone believes your wild stories?” Her wild gaze swept the ballroom. No one seemed much interested in allying themselves with a possible traitor.

Sydney's feet were drawing her toward the empress, who bit out, “That will be a matter for a judge to decide, cousin.”

Turning to her last resort, “Gaspard? You cannot believe this. You know I would never...” He was already shaking his head and distancing himself from her.

“Gaspard?”

“You lost this fight ages ago, Your Grace. You're just the last to find out.” Sneering, Trevelyan nodded for the Empress' guards to take the blubbering Florianne away. The sobs abruptly stopped, and one of the guards burbled up blood. Florianne's dagger opened the other's throat just as quickly, and the woman leapt up the stairs.

“Now!” She yelled into the crowd.

Puffs of smoke hissed, and Imperial soldiers fell to the blades of harlequins bearing eerie masks and deadly blades.

“For Corypheus, kill them all!” Another guard fell to her blade. She was within striking distance of the empress.

Blind her, Sydney willed her flames. A wall of white flared between the cousins, gave Sydney enough time to replace it with herself, sword ready. Livid, Florianne hurled curses at Sydney, then threw herself toward the garden doors, Trevelyan hot on her heels.

“Cullen, defend the people!”

“Yes, Inquisitor!” Cullen gestured, and Inquisition officers leapt to order their soldiers into the fray. Courtiers scrambled to put their backs to the walls, get as far from the swinging blades as possible. Not all of them made it.

“Why did you not kill her?” From behind the safety of Sydney's back, the empress demanded.

“Flames spread, your majesty.” As she was joined by more guards and Morrigan, who raised a magical shield around herself and the empress, she added. “It would have been a shame if they burned more than your cousin.”

“Your control over them is finite then?” Prodded the witch.

Quietly, “Everything has its limits.” She met the witch’s eye. “And price.”

Golden eyes fixated on the runes. “A magical blade that draws its power from a non-mage. Fascinating.”

Sydney resisted a sarcastic reply about things that fascinated witches. She let her focus stray, to find Leliana. Daggers flashing, the spymaster was defending herself and Josephine. Elegant deaths were delivered to any who thought to try their luck. Leliana danced to a music all her own, and Sydney was caught up in it all over again. Nearby movement demanded her attention. The arrow burned white midair, as did its fellow, and the four after that.

A blade opened the archer's chest, and Cullen nodded at Sydney from behind it. Bolts of lightning sizzled in the garden. They looked like Dorian's work, and the man in question swaggered in a few minutes later. Alongside him, Varric and Cassandra entered, sweating, more blood staining their ballroom finery. Trevelyan came last, and he took in the ballroom with weary eyes.

“It is finished. The Grand Duchess and her followers are dead.”

Inquisition soldiers saluted, dead bodies leaked, and nobles fumbled. The Inquisitor turned to the empress, who was still safely behind Sydney. The sheen of Morrigan's shield vanished, and Celene stepped forward. “Inquisitor. I must thank you for...” Slippery words, carefully crafted to gain favor with powerful people and condemn the actions of her own family spewed from the empress. With less than half an ear, Sydney listened to her, then Trevelyan, make speeches about overcoming evil, Corypheus, blah blah blah.

Her eyes were on Leliana, tracing the blood spatters, smiling in relief when she decided that little or none of it was hers. Josephine caught her staring and nudged Leliana. The spymaster shifted her gaze from the pair of leaders to Sydney. Her expression rippled. If Sydney wasn't so well practiced at studying Leliana's face, she would have missed it. But she was, and she hadn't.

Leliana had smiled. Sydney decided to count the night as a complete victory.

 

Take careful note of the words not being said, the insinuations of Empress Celene's careful speech. Watch the nobles, remember who frowned when and at what. Remember to... Leliana wanted to slap herself, chain her eyeballs to her work. They kept drifting back to Sydney, standing so poised, triumphant, _dashing._ Not a single member of the Inquisition was among them without crimson stains across faces, sashes, and boots. Even Josie, though she had sheltered behind Leliana, and Dorian, who always took exceptional care to avoid spatter, had not escaped the bloodshed.

Sydney stood, proud and clean, despite her momentous role in the evening's events. It was too much for Leliana. Thinking of the light-footed Sydney as they'd danced, the cocky woman who parried words with the witch Morrigan, the proud warrior routing Florianne's attempt on Celene...

“Careful, Leliana. Eyes are starting to notice where yours keep drifting.” A mere whisper, Josephine's warning poked her. “Today's hero is the Inquisitor, not the lovely Sydney.”

She favored her old friend with a purse of her lips. “Yes, Josie. I'm quite aware.”

“Then perhaps you should remind your eyes of that.”

Mentally growling, Leliana noted that her eyes weren't the only part of her that needed reminding of what was best for the Inquisition.

 

 


	12. The Demons Within Us

 “ _Blessed are the righteous, the lights and the shadow. In their blood, the Maker's will is written. Is that what you want from us? Blood? To die so that your will is done?”_

_-Sister Leliana, Left Hand of Divine Justinia V_

* * *

 

 

Much had happened since the ball at the Winter Palace. Dignitary visits had been arranged, secrets maneuvered, moneys acquired, and promises sworn. Then, there were the two events that weighed most heavy on Leliana's mind. Morrigan had been assigned by the Empress as her liaison, ordered to use her knowledge and magic to assist the Inquisition. She and her son, Keiran, had returned to Skyhold with them. Keiran, created by a ritual to absorb the old god's soul after the final blow to the archdemon. A ritual that the Warden had agreed to, to keep himself or Alistair from being made martyrs when the Grey Wardens did their duty. Except, Cousland had died anyway, his head crushed by the archdemon while Sten was sinking his sword into its brain.

The final battle with the archdemon still haunted Leliana, and if she lingered much on it, it would haunt her dreams for the next week. With effort, she cast aside the unfairness of Cousland's death, refocused herself on the present. She returned her thoughts to the boy. Keiran was far more human than Leliana had ever imagined, though his golden eyes were not those of a nine year old boy. He was intelligent, curious, amiable, and effortlessly polite. Around him, Morrigan was little like the cold, cynical witch who had made Alistair cry for fun. She exuded tenderness and affection for her child. She was relatively pleasant to those who were kind to Keiran. In fact, she acted almost... warm toward Sydney. Keiran had certainly taken an interest in the foreign woman, and she him.

“Sydney,” she breathed into the quiet of her personal chambers.

She had confronted Sydney about their mutual attraction and informed her that the best she could do was a distant friendship. The Inquisition, and its needs, must come first in her life. Love was a luxury that the Inquisition's spymaster couldn't afford. It was too dangerous, for herself to have the liability of a lover, too dangerous for the lover of the Nightingale. And, she had even admitted that, yes, she was too scared to try. Sydney had been less than pleased, hurt, most definitely hurt, and disappointed. Again. Leliana rubbed at her throbbing temples. At least the woman was cordial with her. They had found moments to smile together.

Maker, how she could forget the world when Sydney smiled at her.

 

“Again, Sydney!” Keiran bubbled with laughter.

Happy to oblige, Sydney postured and did her Elmo impersonation.

“You are a strange one,” came Morrigan's acidic comment as she entered their little corner of the gardens.

“Says the witch whose son adores my strangeness.” She grinned.

“'Tis,” Morrigan's eyes shifted over her boy, “Unusual to see him so open with another person.”

Keiran ran and threw his little arms around Morrigan's waist. “She hears whispers too, mother.”

“Indeed.” She ran a hand through his hair. “And you've found a liking to her because she hears things that do not exist for others?”

“She isn't crazy like that pauper in Val Royeaux, mother.” He looked up at her. “Yet, she isn't like me. She only hears one voice.”

“Where you hear many.”

“Yes.”

Two pairs of golden eyes fixed on Sydney, and she had the distinct impression that she was being studied under a microscope. She flicked little tongues of cool flame at their faces. Keiran giggled and swatted wildly, proceeded to chase them, reminding her of a house cat batting at moths. Carefully, Morrigan approached and settled herself on the ground beside Sydney. “You have a way with him.”

Was there a question in those words? Keiran grew distracted by an actual insect and crouched to study it.

“Where do you hail from, Knight of Andraste?” There was her question, laced with danger.

Shrugging, Sydney went with honesty. “Another world.”

Morrigan's gaze became that of a great cat, and her mouth opened.

“Whatever your questions, my answers will likely be useless to you. I don't know how I got here. I don't know why. I've never met a god, and I haven't seen the Black City. My world doesn't have magic.” She canted her head. “Probably. If it does, it's not like the magic of Thedas.”

“You don't fear me.” Morrigan's change of topic threw her.

“What?”

“I can see a healthy respect for my power, yet you do not fear me, nor my gods-touched son.”

There she went again, making statements that sounded like questions, underlain with 'I might kill you' tones. “Okay?”

“You don't fear us, Leliana is smitten with and yet rejects you, the Inquisitor looks to you for guidance, and you have a bond with a creature that I have only heard legends of. What manner of person are you?”

Not having much of an answer, Sydney threw the question back at her. “You were raised by the mythical Flemeth, aided the Warden against the Blight, spawned a child with the soul of an old god, and managed to insinuate yourself into the Orlesians' Great Game. What manner of person are you?”

They stared at each other until Morrigan laughed. “I can see why Leliana is both attracted to and scared of you.”

Leliana... Sydney folded her arms over her knees. Not wanting to think about her, she looked at Morrigan, actively tried to understand why she was comfortable with the witch and not Solas. Both of them wanted to study her, study the sword, stared at her as though she might start pissing rifts to the Void. It was something like the difference between Cassandra and Vivienne. No. Not a great comparison. Neither of those women wore mysticism like Solas did.

Solas was just, disconcerting. He wanted something from Sydney, but never spoke of it, just stared at her, asked her odd questions at strange times. “Morrigan, what do you think of Solas?”

“He is unpleasant.” At the immediately spit response, Sydney couldn't help but chuckle. “And he holds secrets that...” she didn't finish.

“He knows more than he's telling.”

“Indeed.”

 

“I believe that our Lady's Knight is playing with Lady Morrigan's son.” Mother Giselle's brow creased slightly. Keiran was an oddity that more than a few feared, despite his seemingly sweet nature. Sydney's attention to him helped, kept him from being burned at the stake. That, and Morrigan would kill anyone who even thought it, but peoples minds were eased knowing that Andraste's Knight kept an eye on, as well as liked him. “They are in their usual playground.”

That would be a semi-secluded section of the infant gardens. Partial walls, trellises meant for climbing flowers, and old bushes created a little corner of privacy. Before, it had largely been the province of couples trysts, but Morrigan had more or less made it her own, and her son's.

“Thank you, Mother Giselle.” Leliana afforded a bend of her neck.

“Of course, Sister Nightingale.” The Reverend Mother went back to settling baby plants into pots in front of the Chantry. They looked like Prophet's Laurel. Her thoughts instantly went to Sydney, to the ball, their dance together. Heat flushed through her. She battled to keep it from making her cheeks glow. A few minutes later, she found the woman in question, sitting quite close to Morrigan, the two of them chatting quietly.

They had yet to notice her, and it afforded her a moment to watch them interact. As if they were old friends, they laughed easily. Sharp as a giant spider's bite, jealousy stung her heart. It grew angrier when Keiran ran and jumped into Sydney's lap, babbled to her and his mother about something in his hands. Leliana's heart cried out, at the closeness she denied herself with Sydney, that Morrigan had apparently found, and that she would never have a family, but _Morrigan,_ of all people, had a happy son whose arms flashed around Sydney's neck.

Biting her lip, she closed her eyes. The Inquisition, defeating Corypheus, that came first. Everything else was secondary, even her own life. She opened her eyes in time to see Morrigan watching her, smile at her. That damn witch and her infuriating smiles. How could Sydney stand to be around her for extended periods of time? Morrigan nudged Sydney, who looked up and did not smile. Furrows appeared above her eyes, and her lips pulled down. Gently, she put Keiran from her lap and stood, crossed to where Leliana stood.

“What's wrong?”

If possible, Morrigan's smirk had grown thicker. Leliana made a mental check of her expression. It was carefully pleasant. “Nothing is wrong, Lady Sydney.”

As usual, Sydney grew angry at the title. “You're not as great a liar as you think you are, Lady Nightingale.”

Unable to form an argument, she looked aside.

“Wait here.”

She blinked, watched Sydney go back to the child, ruffle his hair, and say something to Morrigan, who laughed and waved her away. Wordless, Sydney removed herself, grabbed a hand in her own, and dragged Leliana from the gardens. Stunned, curious, she allowed herself to be guided through Skyhold until they came to the ramparts. One of the patrolling soldiers noticed them and changed his path to allow them privacy.

“Leliana, tell me what's wrong.”

What she had gone looking for Sydney to speak to her about flew from her mind. “How have you managed to make friends with Morrigan?”

“Hell if I know. Can even you say for certain that she sees me as a friend and not a research subject?”

Of course she could not. She shook her head.

Sighing, Sydney leaned on stone, bent to look down at the waterfall. “That's not why you came looking for me.”

“No.”

“Am I going to have to play Twenty Questions? What the hell is on your mind?”

“It,” she thought back to earlier that day, the message she'd received. Why had she come to Sydney? She should have waited for Trevelyan. “Is a personal matter that I shouldn't be bothering you with.” She made to leave.

“Is it Marjolaine? Do we need to do something about her?” Sydney's worried, angry concern washed across her heart.

“No. It is not Marjolaine, though I fear I must do something about her soon.” Leliana stood only two steps away. Wringing her hands, back to Sydney, she stared at the courtyard. “I received a message today, and I must make a short journey.”

A crow circled over their heads, cawed. It had a message tube tied to its foot, and it cawed once more before flying west. She wondered who had sent what. Sydney's breath heaved out in an irritated sigh. “Leliana. I'll go with you and help you with whatever it is. Just fucking tell me what it is already!”

She whirled, suddenly angry. “What makes you think I need help?”

Calm responded. “Whatever this problem is has stolen your calm, hidden your tact, and done away with your ability to maneuver a conversation. Your abilities are compromised, and you need someone you trust at your side for this journey. That's why you came to see me, right?”

“I meant to go to the Inquisitor first, but he is busy with lessons today.”

“You're doing a great job of making me angry and sad at the same time.” When Leliana couldn't bring herself to say anything, Sydney made a noise of disgust and returned to looking away from Skyhold.

By the Maker, what was wrong with her?! Kicking herself, Leliana closed the distance to her friend, came to stand beside her, leaned on the edge as she was. “It was a missive from the late Divine. She made sure it would be sent to me in the event of her death. There is something waiting for me at a chantry in Valence. I do not know what, and I'm sure that there will be others looking for it as well. Surely, it is something of great value. We must get to it before others.”

“You were right. This is a matter for the Inquisitor, not me.”

Damn her emotional walls, she cursed herself. “Sydney.”

The sound of her name drew her eyes up. Maker, but her eyes were uncountable shades of brown and green.

“I do not know what or who will be in Valence.” Leliana found her hands twisting themselves again. “But I do know that if you are there with me that everything will turn out alright.”

Her hands' incessant movement was stilled by one of Sydney's hands resting on her own. “Sure, Leli.”

Her heart pattered at the gentle name.

“I'll go with you.”

How she wished that they had met under different circumstances.

 

First, Sydney noticed that it was too quiet in Valence's hall of worship. Next, was that Sister Natalie was too perky, cheerful... deceptive. Leliana introduced Natalie to the Inquisitor, but not to Sydney. She wasn't sure if she was happy about that or not, since it kept with the guise of simple guard that Trevelyan had suggested she wear. When Leliana gave Trevelyan a brief shake of her head while hugging the younger woman, Sydney struggled not to draw her sword. While Trevelyan poked around, Leliana made small talk with Natalie, and Sydney did what had been asked of her. She stayed quiet and kept her eyes and ears open.

“I found something.” Trevelyan spoke from beside one of the numerous paintings.

“Some sort of mechanism.” Leliana noted and watched him poke at it. A gentle grating noise, and it popped away from the wall, revealing nothing except an empty closet. “Let's keep looking.”

When the Sister's back was to them, Trevelyan shot a silent question to Sydney. Nope, no voices or whispers or itchy neck. Not the barest feeling of wrong, except the quiet. She shook her head. His expression went to something like a frowning smile. Two hidden mechanisms later, and he discovered that one of the giant paintings moved to reveal a small chamber. Small, though ornate, a box sat on a table.

Leliana didn't approach it. She whipped around and shoved her old friend against the statue of Andraste. Sharp edge promising death at the slightest movement, a dagger was set to her throat. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

Putting her flank to her companions, Sydney surveyed the area for other danger.

“Good ol' Leliana was playing you the whole time, didn't you realize?” Trevelyan sneered.

Good ol' Leliana sneered as well, telling the sister how a simple mistake had given her away. Fear quickly gave way to smug acceptance on Natalie as the spymaster pulled a lot of little details together and figured out who had sent her. Some Grand Cleric who hadn't liked Justinia, liked Leliana less, and wanted the Sunburst Throne for herself.

“The Inquisition must be stopped.” Natalie spat out, continued explaining how that Grand Cleric would do it.

“Stop us? You must be joking.” How Leliana scorned, so ruthless and cold, pulled Sydney closer. She felt the hair on the back of her neck rising. This was wrong. What was Leliana doing? Was she going to kill her old friend?

Trevelyan must have sensed it too, because he offered the enemy spy a chance to join the Inquisition. But Natalie's faith was in the cleric, and she was ready to die for what she thought to be right. Leliana's shoulder shifted slightly. No. No! Sydney desperately shot Trevelyan a look, and he told Leliana to let the woman go.

Sister Nightingale looked gleeful at the imminent death. “No. She is an enemy, and e-”

No! Sydney's hand slipping between cutting blade and soft throat stopped the motion meant to spill the sister's blood. “No.”

“What are you doing?” Fury burned deep in sapphire eyes. “She must be dealt with.”

Sydney closed her hand around the naked blade, felt it bite. “Not every problem should be solved with death. Let her go.”

Disgust wrinkled her nose. “You are too soft, and you've made the Inquisitor soft. This must be-”

“Shove that nug shit up your ass! Killing people is easy. It's letting them live and maybe cause more trouble down the line, that's hard. If you're going to snuff out a life every time it gets in your way, then you're no better than Corypheus.” She snarled. Shock flashed, and Leliana's body shuddered.

But the dagger's edge opened her palm as the spymaster leaned in and hissed at her. “How dare you. Get out of the way before I make you.”

“Lady Nightingale! Stop this!” Trevelyan barked.

“I do what must be done so th-” Again, Sydney interrupted her. This time, by shoving back hard against the dagger.

“Death and deception aren't the only way!” She yelled, her voice pitched high from the pain.

“It is what I am, what I always will be.” Leliana argued and shoved back, and Sydney found the dagger pressing her hand to her own throat. “Her life is forfeit.”

Fear stabbed sharply at her. Adrenaline soared even higher in her veins, hotter when she stared into cold blue depths so much like the ocean that had taken her father's life. What had caused this to happen to the gentle woman? Marjolaine? The Blight? Years as the Left Hand? Justinia's death? The combination of it all? Hadn't she thought about this a million times already with no answers? There was a whisper in the back of her head, but it wasn't a warning, didn't even come from Andraste. It was Sera's voice telling her that Leliana was probably afraid of what Sydney wanted from her.

Her own fear left her then, fled like a waft of air through an opened window. “If it's blood you want,” serenity anchored her voice, “Then take mine. I'm in your way now, aren't I? I'm the enemy. Kill me, and you can kill her.”

More than one person gasped. Leliana's hand shifted away. “No. I-”

Sydney moved her bloody hand and grabbed at Leliana's, forced the blade to press at her own throat. It nipped at her skin. “Only death and deception, right? Killing me should be easy.”

Leliana's stare shifted from her eyes, to Sydney's throat, to the blood soaking her glove. “Why are you doing this? Her life isn't worth your own.”

“What's stopping you, that pesky heart of yours? That insufferable conscience? You remembering the teachings of Andraste, how she wants you to treat others with mercy, to stand before the corrupt?” Come on, Leli, don't allow fear to keep corrupting your gentle soul, she silently begged.

From behind her came a low whisper. “Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.”

Candles flickered in the wind of their bated breaths.

“Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.” Leliana finished and looked at Natalie. She openly struggled with herself and closed her eyes. “Go, Natalie. Get out of here.”

Sydney felt and heard the woman run. Her gaze she kept on Leliana. Something needed to be said, or done, to reinforce this moment, to let Leliana know that her heart wasn't lost. But what? A wave of exhaustion hit her, making her blink hard and drop her hand. There was a noise of dripping, _splashing,_ as a puddle of red grew on the polished marble below.

“Shall we see what's in the box?” Trevelyan offered.

Leliana took her dagger, and her heat, and ventured into the little room. There came a slight creak, a gasp. “What? Lay down your Left Hand?”

Staring at her own crimson hand, Sydney nodded at the wise words. Justinia had seen what was becoming of her trusted friend. Her legs wobbled. Don't sit in the blood, she mumbled to herself and took a sideways step, sank heavily to the marble floor. She was binding her hand when Leliana and Trevelyan began arguing about what the box meant.

“Hey, Max, remember what Solas said about spirits and demons? When you bind a spirit and force it to do something against its nature, that's when it becomes a demon.” He nodded, frowning. “Think that's what happens to people too?”

Snapping, Leliana answered first. “What are you trying to say? That I've become a demon? I'm the corruption that you're standing against?”

“No,” was Trevelyan's retort. “Not yet. If you were, you'd have killed Lady Sydney.”

As though physically struck, Leliana jerked.

“Corruption of your heart, Leli.” Sydney whispered, her eyelids grown heavy. She could feel the bandage already soaking through with blood. Must have cut deeper than she thought. Was that why she couldn't feel her fingers? “Mercy and,” she sighed, “And forgiveness aren't w-weaknesses.”

Boots scuffed on the cool tiles. “She's losing blood too quickly. What was your dagger coated in?”

“Void take you, Sydney, you're such a fool.” Something bitter was put to her lips, and she tried to yank her head away. “Drink it or the bleeding won't stop, and you won't wake again. You've still corruption to fight, don't you, Lady Knight?”

The vial was practically shoved down her throat, and the bitter liquid hit her gag reflex.

“Don't you dare.” A hand clamped over her mouth. “Swallow.”

Lifting her eyelids was even more difficult than swallowing, but she did. What greeted her was a pair of blurry sapphires. She licked her lips, and her vision focused. The sapphires glittered with damp, their deep color richer than normal, warmer almost. “Your eyes are pretty.” She mumbled as her own eyelids dropped again.

 

 

 


	13. Choice

 “ _All a Warden is, is a promise. To protect others... even at the cost of your own life.”_

_-Thom Rainier, who posed as Warden Blackwall_

* * *

 

 

Enough time to let Epona get a drink and for Sydney to find a chamber pot, that's what they were given when they returned to Skyhold. Grey Wardens were summoning a demon army. Josephine assumed that Corypheus was behind it, using the Calling to drive them mad. The Wardens all thought that their end was near, their blood ready to turn them to darkspawn in service to an archdemon. Evidently, they were desperate enough to supplement their dangerously low numbers by resorting to demon summoning to fight a Blight that wasn't coming.

The Inquisition had been blindsided by this information, their resident Warden not having been very informative about the Calling, or that it'd been hijacked. Given that Blackwall had turned out to be merely a Grey Warden recruit, Thom Rainier, there was little they could do about it, except race out like madmen to try and stop the Warden Commander from turning Thedas over to Corypheus. It all made Sydney's head hurt.

“Hurry up, Tiger. There's sand to tromp through!” Varric nudged her.

Right into another quest, no chance to breathe. Sydney watched as Leliana returned to her tower, too many words left unspoken between them. Silence had divided them since Sydney had woken up after the fight over Natalie's life; a heavy, pulsing silence, full of dangerous thoughts and emotions. Halfway up the exterior stairs, the spymaster paused. A shiver went up Sydney's spine. Despite the obscuring distance, she knew there was thick emotion on Leliana's features. She wanted to run up there, catch Leliana in an out of breath hug, tell her...

Tell her that...

Leliana was turning away.

“To the Void with it!” A tiny little flame, no larger than a thumb appeared an arms length from Leli's face. A second joined it.

From flames to Sydney, Leliana's attention jumped.

Trevelyan and the others were already mounted, only Sydney's boots were yet on the ground. She ignored the mutters and Cassandra's pointed glare. Twisting together, the flames pulled Leliana's attention again; they shifted, dipped, twirled, _danced_ around each other. A suspicious glint slid down the spymaster's cheek.

“Come on, Syd.” Subdued, Bull's baritone tugged on her. “We gotta go.”

Flames continued their dance. Refusing to let them fade, despite her lingering fatigue, Sydney mounted. Epona settled an eye on her, whistled. Stroking her neck with her not-bandaged hand, Sydney smiled sourly. She looked back to Leliana. Five of Epona's footsteps, and the edges of Skyhold obliterated her view. Closing her eyes, Sydney settled for focus on the flames she'd created, put them through the pattern of memory from the ball.

The limit of her reach threatened, her strength not enough to keep the fire burning. Fire suddenly ignited in her own heart, a presence touching it, so intense that she gasped, clutched at her chest. Fierce as a sunset, it burned, spreading to lick every speck of her insides. Riding on its wake was a whisper.

A whisper in Leliana's softest voice. _“Sydney.”_

 

Cupped in Leliana's hands, the fading dancers flickered brightly once more. “Come back to me.” The flames vanished. Her fists closed around empty air. Choking, she twisted, raced not to her tower, but to the battlements over the gates. She made it there in time to see the trail of riders before they passed the first curve of the mountain road. Epona and her rider were easy enough to distinguish. Hand to her chest, Sydney twisted in her saddle. Tossed by the wind, her hair covered her face.

Then she was gone.

 

Sweltering heat, stinging sand, and shimmering visions finally pushed thoughts of Leliana from Sydney's mind. They were on their way to make siege upon a desert castle. Siege! A freaking castle! How many books and movies had she experienced where some army massed along a castle's walls, threw wave after wave of infantry at it, used giant ladders with hooks the size of her arm to anchor them at the tops and climb inside, pushed gigantic trebuchets to launch boulders or fiery death, and hammered against gates with iron capped tree trunks? Sydney knew the tropes and clichés. Battlefields soaked with the blood of the dead. The din of battle. Friendly fire. The fog of war.

It hadn't prepared her for the first time she slipped in the guts of a fallen soldier, fell face-first into his empty chest. She couldn't even hear her own panic over the clashing of metal, the grinding of stone, the creaking of wood, the screaming of the wounded, and the horrors of death. An arrow, possibly from an Inquisition soldier, opened her chin. Ice crystals shot up from the earth, ripped into her arm, exploded out of her buckler. Only her instinctive reach for the white flames saved her from being impaled further.

Then there was the stench. Fear and copper were heaviest on her tongue. Acrid smoke from burning pitch make her nose sting, her eyes water. Flashes of tangy ozone erupted with every strike of magical lightning. The stink of hot metal and burning flesh came with fire, magical and otherwise. Her world became death, and she gaped at her gushing arm.

Bare feet and bald head appeared beside her. “Take care, Knight.” Solas' hand glowed as he stopped Sydney's blood from squirting out her arm. “The ground will only get more treacherous further in.”

The main body of the Inquisition, including Trevelyan's strike force, were yet outside Adamant Fortress' walls. Most of the casualties had been dealt from afar, but there were more than a few demons and beasts defending the ground. A wave of soft cold floated from her arm into her chest. She returned to watching Solas' magic. Her arm ceased to have a hole in it. She stood with the elf's help.

“Thanks, Solas.” Voice trembling, Sydney struggled to compose herself. Cullen yelled for the Inquisitor, and she didn't have time to think anymore. They were running into the fortress, demons and Wardens alike striking at them from all sides, including from above. Sydney looked up in time to scurry away from a flying rock care of a nasty demon.

“There's too much resistance on the walls,” Cullen yelled over the din. “Our men on the ladders can't get a foothold. If you can clear out the enemies on the battlements, we'll cover your advance.”

“Consider it done, commander!” Trevelyan agreed and ordered them forward.

Getting up there took some doing. They literally had to carve their way through. She watched as Trevelyan split a Grey Warden in halves. More use to the sight of carnage by now, she knew it wasn't the pool of blood forming under spilled innards that was making her queasy. Wardens weren't the enemy, her conscience rebelled. They shouldn't be fighting!

Mage fire billowed toward her, and she hastily shielded herself with her sword. The heat of it singed her eyebrows, made her wooden buckler smolder. The fire stopped. She opened her eyes to see several arrows buried in their chest. Another Grey Warden tried to skewer her. “Blood and damnation!” She cursed as she separated the Warden's head from shoulders, got sprayed right in the eyes.

“Careful, Tiger.” Varric was chuckling at her. A hand grabbed her elbow, and a cloth wiped at her eyes. She blinked down at the dwarf. “Blood tends to do that.”

His back unprotected, a demon thought to take advantage of it. Angry, embarrassed, Sydney unleashed hungry flames on it. Her lips twisted to a snarl. Burn, you fucking bastard, her mind howled. She glanced at her dwarf companion, and he gave her a nod before unleashing Bianca into the fray. Varric stayed at her side as they made it to the battlements and helped to secure them.

The hair raising howl of an enormous pride demon set their teeth on edge. “Come on, Bianca, I doubt this is the worst we'll see today.”

Sydney almost smiled as Varric spoke to Bianca like he would an anxious companion. They were surrounded by a variety of demons and shades. The companions put their backs to each other, formed a circle to ward them off. It would work, until that pride demon decided to play bowling with the companions as improvised pins.

“Someone will cut it down so we can put a bolt in its eye.” Varric patted Bianca consolingly.

It would be nice if someone cut it down to size. Some ridiculous movie flashed through her memory. She laughed at an idiotic idea. “Solas, make me some ice. I'm going to need a path right to the big one!” She pointed up at the hulking pride demon _smirking_ at them, doing her best to ignore its enormous, giant, dripping, claws. “Trevelyan, be ready.”

As she readied her legs, she felt Solas frown. “I don't quite-”

Varric roared in laughter. “Ah, Chuckles, she's gonna run at its legs. Make sure she can slide between them!”

Sera shrieked her own giggles. “Gonna cut that baddy down to Varric's size!”

“You're an idiot.” Dorian applauded her.

She sprinted forward, right at the arrogant demon. Its claws twitched, gleamed in the firelight. There wasn't ice yet, but she swallowed her fear, trusted Solas to understand in time.

Soft sparkles flashed. Ice raced ahead of her, a perfect line between the demon's legs. Her sword was gripped in both hands, the blade parallel to the ground, pointing away from her side. She dove, landed heavily on her knees, let her momentum speed her along. Half a thought behind her, giant claws gouged the stones. She blinked, her knees hit warm stone, and her body tumbled and bounced like an ejected car tire. When she came to a stop, was able to focus on the demon, it was still standing.

“Nug shit! I fucking missed?”

Trevelyan was under it, trying to follow up on Sydney's failed attack. The demon twisted, aiming to skewer him, and its left leg ripped apart. Mere threads of flesh connecting the two halves, its bone glistened, the cut of it perfectly smooth. A great shudder convulsed the demon. Roaring, it fell to its knees, and Trevelyan's axe bit deep into its exposed throat. Ice surged from the enchanted blade, crackled, made the neck brittle enough for a second blow from Cassandra to shatter it. The head bounced once, and rolled to Varric's feet. He let Bianca put a bolt through its eye for good measure.

Cheers died before they made it up Sydney's throat. The other demons, abominations, and shades attacked as mob, backed by several angry Grey Wardens. She summoned flames that ate at their feet, causing panic and confusion that made them easy pickings for arrows and blades. Those without feet were set upon by lightning and ice and undead warriors. Through the fortress, the battles were much the same.

Sweat and blood and demon gore coated the lot of them, got into their mouths, dripped into their eyes, made the stones dangerously slick. Thankfully, more Wardens than not surrendered or joined the Inquisition's ranks. Few of them wanted to fight alongside demons. Even Warden-Commander Clarel, whose actions evidenced insanity, proved herself hesitant of allying with demons, allowing the creation of abominations. There was a creepy mage guy wheedling his lies to convince her the rightness of their actions.

Clarel actually listened to Trevelyan's pleas for another path, that Corypheus was behind the false Calling. Even from twenty feet up and forty feet away, Sydney could see the conflict rage on the Warden-Commander's face. She hesitated to spill the blood of one of her mages. Her hesitation enraged the creepy mage guy. His manipulations about to be thwarted, he began yelling about failure and other nonsense. When Clarel tossed the blade aside and chose to stop sacrificing her people, he went manic, and his loyalty to Corypheus came out.

That was when the Elder One's archdemon appeared.

Sydney'd been humiliated when she'd pissed herself and passed out in front of her first high dragon. Her first encounter with demons had almost ended in suicide. Even earlier, her first days in Thedas, facing rock tigers, didn't begin to compare with the terror of its presence. Its shrieking howl not only made the stones shudder, but her entire body trembled. She fell to her ass, nearly gagging on the putrid odor that came with its advance.

Clarel acted first, killing the mage and distracting the archdemon. She rallied her Wardens to do what they'd been created for: kill the archdemon. Half of the warriors perished in a single sweep of its tail. Sydney barely dodged, cast a surge of fire toward the beast. As it beat the flames away with gusts from its wings, she fell to a knee, exhaustion threatening. A wall of armor and shield protected her from a demon attack.

“You've used the fire too much, Sydney.” Cassandra's voice penetrated the fog building behind her eyeballs. “Recover yourself and let the mages throw magic around.”

The woman barely seemed winded, probably wasn't sweating yet, Sydney grunted to herself. Their other companions seemed as equally ready to continue the battle. Only the Earthling was ready for a nap. She battled gravity, almost lost. Angry, she gathered an ounce of adrenaline and launched her heavy buckler at a demon. It distracted the creature for a breath, all the Seeker needed to gut it. She dodged an ice spear and hid behind a wall to take a drink of tepid water.

Cassandra was beside her. “Come. We must find Clarel and the archdemon.” She gave Sydney a fierce looking-over. “Your stamina has improved immensely these past months, but it's obvious you will never have reserves such as my own. Stay behind me and at Varric's side.”

Grateful, Sydney nodded. “Will do.” As they ran up endless stairs, they encountered the archdemon at various intervals. It would attack, then seem to bore and fly away. Its teasing riled up Trevelyan and Cassandra to the point that the two warriors almost ran ahead of the group. Vivienne's scathing reprimand barely kept them with the group. Sydney cursed the hitch in her side and gasped along behind Varric. Somewhere high in the fortress, they caught sight of Clarel.

Magic swirled in thick fog around the mage as she did battle with the archdemon. The lack of fire coming from the almost-dragon's throat caught Sydney's curiosity. It was overridden by a view of the battlefield far below. The army of the Inquisition was an ocean of ants. They surfed crimson sand dunes in the waning twilight. Was it all blood or a trick of the sunset?

Hard fingers closed around her wrist, yanked her sideways. “Careful, Tiger!”  
Varric's tug veered her in time to avoid a gaping hole in the catwalk they were crossing. A dark abyss yawned hungrily. “Damn,” hissed out of her.

“You cannot fall prey to your own idiocy now, Knight.” Vivienne scolded. “Varric will not always be there to save you.”

Maker, Sydney wanted to slap that bitch _so_ hard. She satisfied herself with the fact that Varric, Cassandra, and Sera's expression agreed with her inner voice until the archdemon's roar shifted everyone back into battle mode. The sharp banter died. Curses and shrieks replaced it when flaming red lyrium rained down on them.

“It spits red lyrium?!” Varric yelled.

The fog had cleared enough for them to see the archdemon stepping right over the Warden's still form, dismissing her as dead. Its head reared back and coughed up another blaze of red lyrium at the companions. Sydney jumped toward the beast, then rolled sideways until a chunk of castle hid her. She peeked around. The archdemon was focused on Trevelyan.

Luckily, there weren't any other demons backing it up. Only Clarel's lifeless... Wait. The woman's lips were moving. Magic must have carried her muttered words, “In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice!” Her hand thrust up, and she exploded in a shower of lightning that caught the archdemon. Howling, smoking, it reared up. Blood spattered down from the creature, and it flew away in a great gust. The stones beneath the group trembled. One dropped, then the entire bridge they were on began to fall away. Darkness reached for them. From within it, a seething crack of green opened. A rift.

They fell into a world that sizzled with power.

 

Half of their companions hadn't been drawn into the rift that Trevelyan had opened. Hopefully it meant that they hadn't fallen to their deaths and were continuing the demon cleanup in aisle one. Sydney rubbed at her aching face.

“Tiger, how'd you manage to leave your sword behind?” Varric shook his head. “Your shield, sure, but the freaking prophet's blade?”

“It was not your best decision, my dear.” Intolerance for accidents written across her perfect bitch face, Vivienne scorned her. Sydney wished she could open the Fade just to trade the Orlesian snob for Dorian. At least his fabulous ass was a bit more fun.

“Of all the places...” Groaning, Cassandra finished the heckling.

Trevelyan looked about to continue it.

Sydney growled, “Don't even, Max. I _will_ kick your ass.”

Sympathetically a hand patted her shoulder. Marian Hawke smiled down at her. “Varric tells me that Sister Nightingale herself has trained you to use daggers. If a third of the stories I've heard from him are half true, then you'll make good use of this.” She plucked a jeweled dagger from her own belt. “It's enchanted to repel demons.”

Jaw stretching to touch the ground, “But, you?”  
Hawke's smile turned a little too much like Morrigan's. “I won't lose my staff.”

A bark of laughter came from Varric.

“Thanks.” Scowling, Sydney snatched the weapon and forged ahead. Hot with embarrassment and frustration, she didn't much notice the surroundings, not until after the overwhelming wash of demon fear nearly drowned her. A great voice, one that set her nerves on fire and left her skin vibrating, amused itself by ripping into each and every one of the companions' deepest fears. It was even worse than the first time she'd faced despair demons without the protection of Andraste's Fire.

Her fears weren't just brought to the fore of her mind. They were _awakened._ She was plunged into unending darkness, the screams of her mother cutting at her heart. Outside pain was barely noticed, not until a soft green light beckoned her. She blinked, became aware of a battle being fought.

“Sydney!” Pointed ears pulled her eyes up. Somehow, she'd fallen to her knees. “Sydney, stay close to me.” Solas had a glowing hand over her leg, healing an injury she didn't remember getting. He put his face in front of her own. “Without the sword, you are too vulnerable to the demons' attacks.”

Choking, she became aware of a need for air. She took in a great, rasping breath. When had her lungs decided to go on vacation? It was as hard to breathe as if she were underwater, lost in the black waters of the northern Atlantic, where her father had-

A crack and sharp white stars stopped her return to darkness. Fire outlined the shape of a hand on her cheek.

“Lady Sydney.” Never had she been relieved to see the Fade-crazy elf frowning at her. “Tell me of a time when you overcame fear, a moment when you did not let it stop you.”

When had she overcome fear? Some big moment when she'd been brave? Courage wasn't something she really attributed to herself. She just got through stuff. Life happened, and she kept going. She shrugged at him and told him so.

“You're going about it wrong, Chuckles.” A forest of chest hair appeared. Varric's kind blue eyes smiled at her. “Tiger, you...”

Her father had had eyes like Varric. Gentle, laughter always making them twinkle. But the ocean had stolen his laughter, taken it for itself, twisted and reshaped it to a great roaring mockery. Gooseflesh prickled as the frigid waters lapped at her skin. She was going to drown. Her heart pounded in her throat, set her limbs to thrashing, struggling futilely to keep from going under. Like her father, she was going to be lost at sea, leave her mom alone and grieving. Trying to scream, she choked on icy salt water. “Mother!”

Water burned in her lungs, refused to make way for air. She continued to thrash, but she couldn't tell which way was up, if she was swimming toward the sky or the abyss. Mocking her efforts, the ocean laughed at her.

_“Sydney.”_

The laughter paused. Sydney blinked at a ripple of light winking through the waves.

_“You cannot allow the demon to steal your heart.”_

Her heart? It was definitely in her chest, the way it was galloping, trying to break her ribs.

_“Remember your strength. You did not jump from those cliffs to join your father. You chose a life at sea in spite of your fear of it.”_

Her first few weeks on the cruise ship had been hell. She'd popped anti-anxiety pills like candy to get through them. Sleep had been near impossible, and her bunkmate had hated her. If her manager hadn't have been a decent person, who recognized her struggle and helped her find a good psychologist to talk to, she wouldn't have gotten a second contract on the ship. Despite a few opportunities on nice, dry land, a couple that would have paid double what she made, Sydney had returned to the sea.

There was no way she was going to let fear keep her from enjoying life. She loved swimming and seafood and watching sunrises over endless seascapes. It would always be there, a tiny demon in her heart, but she could damn well keep from drowning in it.

She reached for the light, and the waters evaporated. The stink of fear assaulted her nose at the same moment she opened her eyes to see Trevelyan gut a demon. Solas and Varric had their backs to her, fighting against the horde surrounding the group. Wishing for her sword, but having only a dagger, Sydney sighed and joined the battle.

Rivers of spilled blood later, thankfully mostly demons', the group forced itself deeper into the fade, following clues and freeing trapped spirits. They battled fear, both physical and imagined. Voices followed them. One that Cassandra swore was Divine Justinia's, others that whispered of torment, plucked at their nerves, wore down their defenses. The shifting landscape unnerved and nauseated. Through it all, the great nightmare voice laughed at them, continued to toy with their fears.

How Hawke had allowed Kirkwall be destroyed, Alistair kept handing over the reins of leadership to others, that Trevelyan would be as hated and useless as his father. Each of her companions brushed off its words. Cassandra even made it mad. It saved Sydney for last. “And you, lost one, you fear not only leaving your mother alone, but being alone forever.”

Not just a fear. A reality. Whether she survived this visceral trip through the Fade or not, seeing her mom again was less likely than Dorian marrying a woman. And Leliana would never let down the walls around her battered heart. Tears burned at Sydney's eyes, and her best response was no response. Her silence, however, spoke enough, and the demon cooed at her, pleased. The damned spirit enjoyed watching fear devour its victims, fed on the energy of it.

Trevelyan came beside her and laid a hand on her shoulder. He gave her a nod of support. Much to her surprise, his actions were a comfort. It was enough for her to take a deep breath and continue on.

When at last they came to a moment where they could breathe, didn't have fear eating away at their mental armor, draining their strength, stealing their hope, they got a reward. Or maybe, it wasn't for some. The spirit of Divine Justinia, or a spirit who had taken on the woman's visage, finally solved the mystery of Trevelyan's faulty memory. Justinia had been the woman whom witnesses had seen before Trevelyan had popped out of a rift. Not Andraste. The mortal woman had sacrificed herself to give the young man a chance to escape the flood of demons chasing him.

To say he was crestfallen was an extravagant understatement. Cassandra was near devastated. The others, Sydney couldn't bring herself to look at them, in case they decided to focus on her. She had no interest in taking up the mantle of Andraste's chosen. Likely, she wouldn't have a say in the matter. The Inquisition needed its divine assistance, and Thedas already called her Andraste's Knight despite her efforts otherwise. Then again, she almost grinned, if she'd lost the sword, she wasn't much of a divine knight.

Trevelyan would just have to go on being the Herald. Maybe Andraste _had_ chosen him to carry the anchor. Justinia had certainly thought he was worth saving. The man could close rifts, battle demons, and rally troops. He was good enough, had to be. No one else could do a damned thing if Corypheus managed to open another giant breach. Even if she was reunited with the sword, Sydney couldn't do that. Why the hell had she been dragged into this fight anyway?

Her why's and what for's died in her throat as the great voice that had been taunting them for the past hours, days, however long, loomed enormous and terrifying in physical form. The moisture in her mouth dried up, turned her tongue into a thick, sticky lump. Casually, the great Nightmare swatted at them, sent the companions spinning. Something cracked. Someone started screaming.

Nightmare laughed as fear tried to blossom in Sydney's heart again.

“Fuck you.” She thrust the fear away and tried to push herself up. One of her arms flared in sharp pain. A howl tore out of her mouth, and she fell back to the spongy ground. Oh. Well, that crack had been her arm, and that scream had been her own. Noted. Sweating, panting, she rolled to her other side, pushed up with her good arm.

A hand reached down to her. “You're kinda terrible at holding onto your weapons.” Alistair looked almost as bad as Sydney felt, bruised, cut up, and wincing as he helped.

“Aw, thanks,” was all the sarcasm she had energy for.

Alistair snorted, bent and retrieved the dagger, passed it over. “Try a little harder this time, okay?” He gave her a lopsided smile.

If there wasn't a pitched battle being waged a few yards away from her, she would've continued the banter. As it was, she barely managed to hold onto the dagger as she watched Solas whip spell after spell at Nightmare, but the immense demon laughed them off. She looked down at her tiny dagger.

“A portal opened!” Alistair's low cry had her searching for the exit.

It was on the other side of the demon, where only Varric and the lucky bitch of a mage could reach it. The others were ducking, rolling, basically flailing about and not getting anywhere. Alistair's sword and shield joined their efforts while Sydney cradled her broken arm. She looked down at the dagger, rolled her eyes, considered if she could get to the portal.

Unlikely. She was the farthest from it. Exhaustion and pain would make her extra slow. And Nightmare seemed entirely too interested in her. At first, she'd thought it was the usual kind of self-doubt and fear making her think stupid things. But now, now she could _feel_ its terrible regard. Demons had always found her too interesting. Without the sword, she didn't have much of a chance. Not unless the others somehow managed to kill the ancient terror.

“Why don't you admit defeat and give up, lost one?” Its nerve-shattering voice boomed in her skull.

“Why don't I crawl down your gullet and cut your heart out with this dagger?” She spat.

Solas threw up a wall of ice that hid him and Cassandra while they darted around the distracted demon. Nightmare howled and started to turn for them.

Sydney took a step forward, brandished the tiny weapon. “What, you afraid of me?” It got what she wanted, Nightmare's attention. Great. As it advanced, the remaining warriors glanced at each other. The portal-rift was shrinking. An argument sprang up between Alistair and Hawke about which of them would stay behind as a distraction so that Andraste's chosen would get back to Thedas. Trevelyan looked lost, his eyes casting between the two. Already, the others were jumping through the closing rift behind the enormous demon. The idiot looked like he might do the dumbshit hero thing and sacrifice himself.

Without him, Corypheus would win. Figures the idiot would forget a minor detail like that. He'd do the immediately noble thing and let all the good things in Thedas be wiped out by a delusional madman. Music, picnics, laughter, apple tarts, Leliana.

Leliana. The woman who continually rejected her.

“Fuck it,” was hissed through clenched teeth. Sydney didn't belong in Thedas anyway. Thedas needed its Champion, needed an uncorrupted Warden to rebuild, and definitely needed an Inquisitor with his anchor to lead them. “Alistair!” She felt the man shift his attention to her. “Get them out of here!”

“You will not escape!” Nightmare laughed.

Clutching her broken arm, Sydney ran forward. “You've got to get through me first!”

It couldn't help itself. The challenge drew its entire attention. “Your tiny knife cannot harm me.”

Too true. She'd give it her best though. Letting her broken arm dangle at her side, she held the dagger aloft, caught sight of Alistair and Hawke dragging Trevelyan toward the portal. “Come and get some, asshole!”

 

 


	14. Fragile Dreams

 

“ _Krem, Rocky, Dalish, all of 'em. Dead for the Iron Bull, a man who never even existed.”_

_-The Iron Bull, Hissrad of the Qunari_

* * *

 

 

In the privacy of her quarters, Leliana threw the written report from Trevelyan across the room and screamed. The man had delivered it personally and given a soft speech in addition to the vellum. He had not been sent by Andraste. Justinia had been the woman whom everyone had seen in the breach. She had sacrificed herself to give the man a few seconds to reach the portal back home. As Sydney had done. The woman who _had_ truly been sent by divine intervention.

Leliana should be celebrating a victory against Corypheus. Raging with new ideas, ways to take that victory and win the Inquisition more influence, that was what her mind should be full of right now. She should be contemplating Justinia's final message and be hip deep in debates with Josephine. Why must she be raging with frustration and grief instead? What other cruelty must the Maker force upon her? Her mother and Lady Cecile’s passing. Marjolaine's betrayal. The Blight and all its horrors. The death of her mentor, beloved as a mother. A woman who she had been falling in love with...

“Maker,” she hissed in realization. “I _was_ falling for her.” Despite having tried to stay distant, despite her words to Sydney of only being able to offer “distant friendship,” the woman had still wiggled into her heart. The memory of their dance at the Winter Palace brought heat to her cheeks. She'd barely even had the woman, if one counted that night when they had shared a bed _ages_ ago, yet the thought of having completely lost her was unbearable. Face dropping to her hands, her grief came fully upon her. Pain shuddered in her chest, dripped from her eyes. Sleep was a long time coming.

 

Her dreams were of Sydney's sword. Sitting in the courtyard's stone, its familiar lines beckoned her close. Scarlets and magentas burned in the sky, gleamed along the edges of the blade. The runes in it sat dark until she touched a finger to the skyward pommel. Sharp white flames burst out, frothed into a whirlwind, encasing her in a tornado of light.

Without even flicking a tendril of hair, the maelstrom vanished. Its brilliance was replaced by a dazzling sea. Toward the blue horizon, no matter which way she turned, it was unending. Her feet rested lightly upon its mirror surface. They splashed as she walked, but did not sink. For miles and days, she walked, going nowhere, seeing nothing but the endless waters.

She looked for her shadow, saw instead a mirror woman beneath her feet. As Leliana bent, so did the woman, and her features came into focus. From the green waters, Sydney looked back at her.

 

Only vaguely interested, Leliana watched as Cassandra railed at Trevelyan for allowing the Grey Wardens to not only stay, but to join the Inquisition. Some of them were surely corrupted. They all were short-sighted idiots, with the possible exception of Alistair. Why in the world would he give them yet another chance? The Seeker went red as her rage billowed, until she stood there, panting, every rabid ounce of her demanding a suitable answer.

The Inquisitor had not wilted under the tirade at all. In fact, the usually combative man had remained calm, patient. “Because Lady Sydney did the same for me.”

Mention of the recent martyr doused the fires of rage. “What do you mean?” Cassandra's reply was clipped.

“Don't you remember how she yelled at me on the very first quest she joined?” He returned. Finally, Leliana's interest was piqued, and she straightened in her seat. The two warriors stared at each other for many long breaths. First Cullen, then Josephine caught Leliana's eye, silently questioning, but she shrugged, unsure. There were some secrets even she didn't know. Truly, more than a few when it came to Sydney.

Cassandra finally nodded. “I see.”

Maker's breath, _she_ didn't! Leliana inwardly swore, saw Josie and Cullen's irritation as well. Trevelyan looked at them. “You remember that night she and I dueled, Lady Nightingale. She saw what my fear, my grief, and,” he gave a short chuckle, “Inexperience were turning me into, how I was turning into a corrupt Inquisitor.” His voice dropped pitch. “And I'm sure you haven't forgotten what happened in Valence.”

Cloth rustled, boots shifted. Rain pattered on the windows.

“She demanded more of us.” Leliana whispered.

“She demanded that we overcome our fears, _ourselves,_ and be a force for good.” He clarified.

“Andraste sent us a great gift in that woman.” Cullen whispered.

Trevelyan's hands found the edge of the war table. “She was the perfect combination of holy messenger and natural leader.” He chuckled again. “I wouldn't have listened to anyone else until it was too late.”

 _It takes fire to forge a sword._ Leliana finally understood. Trevelyan's Inner Circle, his advisers, had already been trying to mold him into a stronger Inquisitor, but he had been cool and resilient. Sydney's refusal to accept a spoiled boy as their leader, her determination and honor and courage had been the fire he'd needed under his ass. But the trade was too dear. Sydney's life for an Inquisitor finally worth his weight in lyrium was not acceptable to Leliana's shattered heart.

 

“How long have you been standing in this rain, Leliana?” Demand underlain with remarkable -and irritating- gentleness, Cassandra's voice pulled her from thoughts of the Fade.

Blinking away moisture, Leliana shrugged. “Since the meeting.”

Angry concern whipped at her. “Leliana! That was hours ago.” The Seeker grabbed hold of her, used her superior strength and body weight to drag her toward shelter. Even if she'd had the energy to, she wouldn't have been able to escape the powerful warrior's grasp. Some bit of dignity made her pick up her pace to keep from stumbling along. Leliana hoped that Cassandra would simply yank her inside, dump a cup of hot tea in her, and be on her way.

“Ambassador!” Cassandra's sharp tongue caught Josephine in the middle of a conversation with a richly dressed noble. Lord Ve-something. Leliana couldn't remember if she'd bothered to investigate the man yet. She frowned at herself. She'd told Sydney that she couldn't risk neglecting her duties for an attempt at love, yet here she was, neglecting her duties over the loss of the woman. Cassandra's sharp demand of Josie yanked her from those thoughts. “Come with me.”

Eyes wide, Josie nodded. She gave the staring lord a short apology, a bow, and fell into quick steps beside Cassandra's own. Her mouth moved. Her eyes flit between the former Hands of the Divine. Yet, she remained silent until they were in Leliana's private quarters.

“What is going on?” Josie allowed her worry to speak behind the closed door.

“Leliana has been standing out in the rain since the meeting,” was Cassandra's short reply.

A dark hand flew to lightly painted lips. “Oh, my friend.”

Leliana turned away, not liking the pity in their eyes. “I'm in the rain no longer. You may leave now.”

“No.” Cassandra met her furious gaze with her own. “Get out of those sodden clothes.” She waved at Josie. “If you would stoke the fire, start some tea?”

The Seeker wouldn't leave. Neither would Josephine until the other woman was satisfied. They'd silently allied against her. Leliana seethed, “Get out.”

“Strip, Leliana.” Cassandra barked. “Or I will remove them for you.” Josephine's small sounds paused, but quickly resumed.

Traitor.

 _Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter._ Her conscience poked at her. Indignant anger fading, Leliana sighed. These women were her friends. They hadn't allied against her, weren't betraying her. Both of them were intelligent enough to recognize the signs of grief, to have guessed that despite Leliana's icy walls, Sydney had melted her way into her heart. They were worried for her.

She closed her eyes and began unbuckling her gear. When her tunic squelched on the flagstones, a soft cloth moved across her shoulders and back. Cassandra handed her a second cloth for her front. While Josie's gentle touch dried her legs, Leliana wiped her intimate parts.

A fresh tunic was tugged over her head. Josie tackled her hair. Leggings appeared around her ankles, up her legs. Cassandra left the rest for Leliana to tug into place and began picking up the discarded items. She arranged the boots, leathers, and armor on their stand to dry before the fire. Her own wet cloak, tabard, and sword followed. Apparently, the woman was staying a while.

The tousling of her hair stopped, and Josie's hands gently combed it into its usual style before stopping, taking careful hold of Leliana's chin. “She finally got in, dear friend, didn't she?”

Her answer was to wrap her cold hands around her friend's, shut tight her eyelids, draw in her lips.

“Leliana,” sympathy whispered. She was pulled into an embrace, Josie sharing her grief, offering her comfort, sheltering her from the terrible storm in her heart.

 

Several weeks after the battle at Adamant Fortress, two weeks after Trevelyan's return, the Grey Wardens arrived at Skyhold. Adamant had been left under the care of Inquisition forces. Reports had been positive thus far. Somewhere among the quiet, shifting contingent in the courtyard was Alistair. Bastard half-brother of the late King Cailan, former ward of the Arl of Redcliffe, once companion to the Hero of Fereldan and a veteran of the Blight. And an old friend to Leliana. They had kept in regular touch over the years. Until recently.

Before the explosion at the Conclave, the creation of the Breach, it had been over a year since they'd exchanged letters. Before that, two years since they had last met in person. Leliana wasn't sure if she was ready to see him now. She gave orders to her agents to either deter the man or give her ample warning of his approach. It turned out to be a pointless effort. Alistair busied himself with getting the Wardens settled, mediating disputes, and scowling at the scar in the sky.

 

A vigil was held for those who had fallen at Adamant Fortress. Speeches were made, heads were bowed, fires were burned. Along with a hundred other souls, they asked the Maker to take Sydney's lost soul into His embrace as well. Leliana joined her voice with the rest of Skyhold's as they sang hymns. She knew that many took note of her rare choice to sing in public, yet she couldn't bring herself to care about who and what they would benefit from it. All she could fit into her skull was the one time she had been witness to Sydney singing in the tavern.

The knight's voice was untrained and without much range, even if she hadn't been well into her cups. Leliana had been enamored. Both with Sydney's performance and the strange song as well. It was not gentle, did not follow a harmony that Leliana could place. There was deep emotion in the words, more in how Sydney had delivered them.

“Come and go, what to say.” Sydney had crooned. “Make a move, stop running away.” She'd paused, swayed, and frowned in Leliana's direction.

Leliana had sucked in her breath, afraid that Sydney had seen her.

Sydney had shaken her head and recovered. “Live this life, everyday.” Leliana's heart had hammered in the shadows. “Live on now.”

How was she supposed to live now? What did she live for?

When Leliana returned to her quarters after the exhausting vigil, she finished the song that she'd begun months ago. What had begun as light and hopeful notes that would suit a harp and flute had twisted to haunting stanzas better suited to drums and strings. Numb, she drifted to bed and stared at the place where Sydney had once lain.

 

In the following days, Leliana threw herself into hunting down the traitor among her agents and finding a solution to her Marjolaine problem. There was far more success with the former. The bribed tongue was dealt with, shipped to a loyal noble who happily put him to work scrubbing chamber pots. Leliana hoped it would have made Sydney smile. It had been difficult to convince herself to not take a dull knife to the traitor's throat and mount his head on a pike.

For her second problem, she'd even recruited Varric and Josephine's assistance. Yet the persistent bard refused to be cornered or lured or bribed. To be a barb in Leliana's side was what Marjolaine's life goal appeared to be. She was proving overly adept about it, and Leliana began to wonder what sort of power was behind her former lover's efforts. Frustratingly, she could find nothing about who or what was protecting, funding, and encouraging Marjolaine. It led to even more sleepless nights.

Solas reported that he'd spent time wandering the Fade, asking the spirits if they knew of Nightmare and Sydney's fate. Eagerness to know was squelched by his downcast eyes. Neither Sydney nor Nightmare could be found. For a demon of that age and power to vanish without trace was nigh impossible. Surely the great evil had been vanquished by Andraste's Knight. But Sydney was a creature of flesh and blood. There should have been _something_ to find.

There came ridiculous rumors that the Chantry's considerations for Leliana to take the Sunburst Throne had gained momentum. Herself as Divine Justinia's successor? Those were robes she would end up spending the rest of her life trying to fill. With a good set of Hands, Cassandra would be much better suited to leading the Chantry in repairing itself. Giving no more thought to it than that, she put it from her mind.

Andraste's Fire was reported as discovered beneath a layer of ash and sand. It was lodged in the stone of the fallen castle, still as perfect as a new blade and refusing the touch of any other. Epona disappeared from the stables. Not a single stable hand knew, or would admit to, how Sydney's steed had escaped her pen. A guard finally confessed to opening the main gates for the hart when she had quietly approached and scratched at the wooden barrier. She had trotted away from Skyhold without bridle or saddle. The guard tearfully went on to admit that he'd hoped the hart would return with Andraste's Knight.

Hope and despair began a fresh battle in Leliana's chest.

 

Alone on the ramparts, watching the sun fall behind the mountains, Leliana whispered to the sky. “My darkened soul needs her fire too. Maker, why couldn't I see that sooner? Why did you have to take her away?”

There was no answer, only a flash as the sun gave up its last rays. She went to bed in silence, too early, but she was too tired to care.

 

“Leliana?” A small voice called out to her. She turned on the garden path to see Keiran sitting under a flowering trellis. “It is alright if I call you Leliana, is it not? Being a friend of Sydney and one of mother's old companions, I feel as though Sister Nightingale is inappropriate.”

Maker's breath, this child did not speak as a child of ten winters should. Even the children of nobles would be hard pressed to be as proper and confident as Morrigan's child. She pushed that aside and considered the boy. She nodded. If only for Sydney’s memory, she would make an effort to be amiable. “Leliana is fine, Keiran.”

“May I also hug you?” Around his eyes, the skin was flushed. It brought Leliana to a knee and opened her arms. She wasn't prepared for the boy to fling himself into them, to whisper a small cry about missing Sydney.

Fighting the tears that had constantly threatened since the battle at Adamant Fortress, she embraced the little boy. As he sniffled, she tightened her hold. “I miss her too,” escaped from her heart.

“Mother says she can't find her in the Fade.” He snuffled. “The voices do not speak of her. Why hasn't she come back yet, Leliana? Doesn't she miss us?”

“I don't know, Keiran.” Her voice trembled. “I wish I knew.”

 

“Hello, Leliana.” Low, gentile, hesitant, a familiar male voice approached her. Underneath scars, ragged beard, and exhaustion, a familiar face peered at her. His summer blue eyes were haunted, the innocence and hope of his youth long chased away. “It's been a long time.”

“Alistair,” rode on a breath. How many years had it been? How had he snuck up on her? An agent lurking in the shadow behind Alistair jerked and dashed away.

“Ah, I see that Alistair has finally decided to show himself to you.” Acerbic and cutting as always, Morrigan's voice cut into the barely-begun reunion. “Here I thought that it would only be me who you would avoid.”

A puff of emotion blew out of the man. “And I was doing such a fine job of it too, Morrigan.”

“Indeed you were. Keiran has been highly disappointed.” The witch returned.

Leliana found herself peering intently at Morrigan. Was there a trace of longing under her scornful tone? Alistair ran a hand through his rumpled hair. “Now why would I have wanted to subject myself to your child merely for your amusement?”

The sharp reply that they expected didn’t come. Instead, there were shadows that passed across the witch as clouds floated overhead. Her wolf-yellow eyes lowered. When the clouds allowed the sunlight upon them again, her gaze slowly lifted, a softness in them that Leliana had only seen directed at Keiran before. “Not all of the stories that I've told him of you have been of your foolishness.” Her eyes flicked to Leliana. “He does not like the return to loneliness that Sydney's absence has set within him.”

Understanding flashed. “You miss her too.” Leliana watched as Morrigan's usual defenses swept away the softness, replaced it with icy hauteur. She smiled at the sensitive witch. “Morrigan, are you,” giggles threatened at the crazed notion on her tongue, “Are you reaching out to us?”

Alistair's eyebrows flew high, and Morrigan's body tensed. Tension hummed, as palpable as cold fog.

“Should I have brought my sword? I fear a swooping is upon us.” Halfway to a grin, Alistair peered intently at their former companion.

The effect on her was immediate. Morrigan groaned and rolled her eyes. “Perhaps I should have made this reunion while in the form of a giant spider.”

Alistair nodded thoughtfully. “It would have felt more like old times.”

“That I...” her retort faded. She swallowed heavily, seemed to steel herself. “Join Keiran and I for dinner this evening. Both of you. The boy could use strong figures other than myself in his life.”

Not simply a dinner invitation, a demand, to be entwined in the tiny family's life, their future. Leliana balked, her ragged heart quailing at getting attached, especially to the mysterious witch and her son. No.

“Why, Morrigan, lowering your standards to that of mere mortals?” Alistair prodded. “What dark magic is this?”

“If I knew, I would have found a counter-spell to it already,” was the irritated reply.

“Mother! There you are. I've been waiting to,” Keiran's eyes widened at the sight of Alistair. “Hello. You must be Alistair.”

The man in question gaped, blinked. “What makes you think that?”

“Your blood carries the taint. And you match mother's descriptions.” Keiran's neck slanted as he studied the older man. “Mostly.”

Much to Leliana's relief, which startled her to realize that she wanted the boys to be cordial, Alistair chuckled and squatted to be at eye's height of the youth. “Not exactly what you pictured a buffoon to look like, am I?”

Keiran shook his head. “Mother never truly means it when she labels you as such. No, what I meant was that you have far more sadness and worries in your eyes.” He suddenly fixed on Leliana. “Do you not think so as well?”

“We have all changed a great deal since the Blight forced our company upon each other,” was the only response she could give.

He nodded. “I shall see you both at dinner?”

Leliana glanced at Alistair, who stood and looked at the witch. Morrigan stiffened slightly, as though expecting a physical blow. Would refusal truly be equivalent for her? Or merely were her thoughts for Keiran's feelings? The silence stretched.

Morrigan nearly growled. She shifted, swallowed, filled her lungs, sighed. “Please.”

“I don't have to dress up, do I?” Alistair whined with a playful scowl.

“Nothing formal.” Keiran pronounced. “But, do take a bath.”

Alistair's warm laughter tugged smiles from them. “I will find myself a bucket of hot water and soap just for you.”

Then both pairs of yellow eyes were on Leliana, who silently cursed. Damn you, Sydney, and your infernal friendships. She dipped her head. “Of course. Shall I bring wine?”

 

Andraste's Fire was the center of her dreams again.

And the next night. The next. For a week straight until Leliana brought it up at the war council. Twelve days later, the money of eager to please nobles delivered the sword to Skyhold. From where the blade had wedged itself in Adamant Fortress' crumbled walls, a block of stone had been cut. Several square feet of yellow rock, engraved to memorialize the fallen Knight, edges gilded in good steel to protect the damaged stonework, now rested in the courtyard for all to see.

Standing before the weapon, five inches of its blade buried in the stone, Leliana felt the numbness creep into her. Her knees hit the stones hard, but she didn't feel it. She didn't feel the tears until the wind dried them on her cheeks. She bent forward, hair brushing her cheeks, and the cool kiss of steel went unnoticed as she slipped into grief.

When she pulled herself upright, she heard the whispers of other pilgrims. Their eyes on her burned with questions. A young man darted forward out of the small crowd and wrapped his hands around Andraste's Fire only to scream in agony a moment later. He collapsed, holding smoking hands against his chest. To his side, only a healer raced. The rest made motions of respect, a solid whisper among them.

“Did She speak to you, Sister Nightingale?” Face lined with great age, a man asked her.

No words, nor images, only an idea. It took hold of her heart and sunk deep inside. Clumsily, she reached for it, focused on what it meant.

“Sister Nightingale!” One of her agents nearly skidded into her. “Sister, I have urgent news.”

The news in the vellum was of enemy movement in the Arbor Wilds. Leliana's musings would have to wait until she'd dealt with the fresh information. She didn't have much heart for considering puzzles from Andraste anyway; they only ever brought her pain. Concealing her sigh behind her Nightingale mask, she returned to her duties as spymaster.

 

 


	15. Memories

 

“ _It doesn't matter that they won't remember me. What matters is I helped.”_

_-Cole, a spirit who became human_

* * *

 

 

Unnatural noises filtered past the fog, invaded her snowy dreams. Strange odors and unpleasant pressures became included. Eventually, their combination beat against her subconscious with enough force to demand cataloging. At length, it was decided that her nose thought it could be the ship infirmary, but a stray memory drifted by, saying that it sounded like TV noises. Her mom had loved this hospital drama, and there were always beeps and soft huffs just like...

Sydney's eyes flew open. They fluttered against the onslaught of bright sunlight pouring in around office-style window shades. Her heart thumped. She forced through the last of the fog and stared around the room. It had all the trappings of a hospital room. Machines, sink, papers on the wall, hard, crisp edges on everything. The pervasive stench of cleaning solutions. What the hell was she doing in a hospital?

Groaning, she tried to sit up, found it unnervingly exhausting and impossible. She barely managed to lift her head enough to see lots and lots of tubes. They floated out from under the blanket that she was draped in. She swallowed, twitched it aside. Or would have, if her muscles had responded. Her head fell back, and she struggled against black spots. She looked at her arms. Under the tubes and medical tape holding them in place, were withered, sickly pale twigs.

“Wh-” but her throat was clogged with a thick coating of dust bunnies. She gagged, coughed painfully. Vaguely, she heard thumps, another person gasping, more thumps. She was too busy gasping for air after her marathon of activity to pay it mind.

“Here, Ms. Nelson. Sip this.” Plastic bumped at her lips. Cool liquid touched her tongue, dripped down her throat. She went to gulp more, but the cocoa skinned man holding the cup rationed the water. He made her take a mouthful and swish it around before letting her swallow. Then, he only let her have one more sip before taking the deliciously wonderful water away. His smile was kind. “I know; you're ridiculously thirsty. We got to take it slow for the moment.”

She thought mean things at him.

“My name is David. I've been your daytime nurse for a while now.” A while? “I need to call your doctor and let her know you're awake. I'll be right back.” Stepping away from her bed, he pulled a phone from his purple scrubs.

Her eyelids fluttered, and the room faded away.

 

Dusty bottle of wine in hand, Leliana was making her way to a fourth dinner with Alistair, Morrigan, and Keiran. She was growing rather fond of them. The meals. And the company. Settling into easy banter with Alistair had been easy, was delightful in its familial warmth. More often than not, it led to heckling from the witch, but Morrigan's tongue did not cut as deeply as it once had.

Sometimes, it did not cut. Instead, Morrigan said nice, pleasant things without a hint of malice behind them at all. Keiran was the usual recipient of these moments. When he was not, it would bring the conversation to a pause while Alistair and Leliana struggled with the novelty of Morrigan not being... well, her old self. Leliana could see the effects of motherhood, of years, of Sydney's friendship in how the dark mage comported herself.

And maybe she could see how Alistair's genial buffoonery could tease a curve to Morrigan's lips. How he had managed to get Leliana to giggle a few times. That the dinners eased the ache in Leliana's heart, filling an old need for family, distracting her from thoughts of Sydney.

Her feet stilled, and she brought her sight up to the scar yet visible in the evening sky. What happened if your mortal body fell inside the Fade? Had Sydney truly died?

“If she is dead,” she whispered, “What happened to her body?”

Clouds were making their way across the sky, but they parted around the scar. Neither clouds nor birds would deliberately go near the slash of emerald. As though they knew that they should not meet, that the worlds should always be separate...

What if Sydney had gone back to her own world? Was there a way to bring her back?

Would she want to return?

“Sister Leliana?” A voice, thick with question broke into her thoughts. Leliana blinked down to see Mother Gisele standing nearby. “Sister Leliana, will you walk with me?”

Leliana dipped her head. “Mother Gisele, of course.”

Through the path made beautiful by hard work, many hands, generous donations, and meticulous care, the two women strolled quietly. Near Keiran's favorite spot, the other woman paused, consulted leaves turned autumn yellow. “I have heard that you are shunting support for the Sunburst throne from yourself to Cassandra.”

Eyes narrowing, Leliana considered what this meant. Was Mother Gisele going to ask for her support instead? She was another candidate for the Sunburst Throne. She was a good woman, compassionate, gentle, well-versed in the Chant, highly respected, and would probably be a good Divine. Leliana had made her decision, however. “This is true.”

Gisele straightened, faced Leliana. “May I be blunt, Leliana?”

“Of course.”

“You should withdraw your support and,” Leliana tensed, “Use it for yourself. Thedas could use a Divine such as you would be.”

Leliana stared. This was completely unexpected. It threw her enough that she spoke without thinking, “I do not want to be Divine.”

Gentle, matronly, a smile graced Gisele. “This is a good reason why you should be.”

“Cassandra would be a fine leader for the Chantry.”

Eyes that carried the weight of many years studied her. “I know she would. But, there are changes that should be made that I don't believe she is capable of. You believe in equality, in seeing mages not treated as we treat elves. We cannot continue along a path that has already wrought so much destruction.” She took a breath. “Do not get me wrong, Leliana. A year ago, I would have fought tooth and nail against the Inquisition's ruthless spymaster becoming Divine.”

“I am yet the Inquisition's spymaster. What has changed your mind?”

“Your love for the Lady Sydney; the gentleness that she brought back out in you.” She glanced away, back. There was a sharpness to her. “I have heard what transpired in Valence.”

Many ears had. Leliana waited.

“I believe that a woman who has overcome her own corruption is exactly the kind of leader we need now.” Mother Gisele finished.

Emotion glinting on her eyelashes, Leliana swallowed. “What if I fall into darkness again? Sydney is not here to bring me back.”

“Would you truly allow yourself to betray her memory like that?”

No. No, she would not. Back to the emerald scar, her eyes drifted. But, Maker, she hoped that Sydney and her love weren't only a memory.

 

While Sydney was contemplating the ceiling panels, remembering that she was in a hospital, David greeted her. “Good morning, Ms. Nelson!” He glanced over her vitals and poured a little water into a nearby cup. “I bet you're thirsty.”

She sucked down a mouthful and promptly gagged. Those dust bunnies in her throat hadn't gone away. Coughing up gooky phlegm stole what little energy she had.

“Don't worry; this is normal. Go ahead and take another sip.” Practiced gentleness suffused his voice and touch on her shoulder. The next mouthful she swished around her mouth and let trickle down her throat. “Good.”

“Where?” She managed to croak.

Stroking her shoulder, watching her carefully, he replied. “You're in Jackson Memorial.”

The skin above her nose pinched. “Why?”

His frown wasn't reassuring. “You came in pretty beat up and needed a few surgeries. You've been asleep for a while too.” Creases lined his middle-aged features. “Dr. Abelmann will fill you in on the details.”

Her attention went to her body. A sudden spike of fear made her concentrate on her toes. They wiggled under the blankets. She felt the ache of the movement up through her butt. Thank God, she wasn't paralyzed.

David caught the movement, flashed her a knowing smile. “The doc is on her way.”

Said doctor arrived half an hour later, just when Sydney's eyelids were starting to droop again. She struggled against the urge to sleep.

“Hello, Ms. Nelson. I'm Dr. Abelmann.”

“Mmf,” was her eloquent greeting.

The very tall, very broad shouldered dyed blonde doctor didn't seem fazed. She merely went into a brief discussion of the horrible injuries that Sydney had arrived at the hospital with, the string of surgeries that she'd been through, that she'd been comatose for nearly six months. Six months of her life, gone. Poof. Never to be regained. She tried to shift, ease an ache in her hip, but her weak body ignored her.

“What were you doing before you arrived here?”

She'd been on a _Dragon Age_ binge. Her day had consisted of popcorn, smoothies, and pajamas. “Enjoying my shore leave.”

“Ah. You worked on a cruise ship, yes?”

She looked down at her blanket-hidden, but quite noticeably thin body. “Will I dance again?”

The doctor's pleasant demeanor stalled, and her smile faded. “Not like you used to.”

Heat pricked at her eyes as a lifetime as a cripple slammed into her thoughts. The imagined hardships attacked her, weighed her down and began to drag her into a sea of fear. Breathing became a chore.

“Deep breaths, Ms. Nelson. Open your eyes, concentrate on me, okay?” The doctor's face swam into view. “There now. You _aren't_ paralyzed. With therapy, you'll be on your feet again soon. Good. Keep breathing.”

Sydney's heart slowed from its frantic gallop, and her breath evened out. The fear receded, though it didn't leave her completely.

Dr. Abelmann gave her forearm a soft pat, her body language was all reassurance. “Do you know what happened to you?”

Not trusting her voice, she gave a negative movement with her head.

“Can you tell us where you've been?”

Where she'd been? Sydney reached into her memories, swam through fog, but all she came up with was that she'd gotten shore leave for a while and had spent it all swimming, drinking, and playing video games. She croaked as much

“Ms. Nelson,” long pause. The doctor and nurse exchanged glances. “You'd been missing for almost four years.”

Four years? “What?!” Her almost-shriek burned her throat.

“It's alright. Amnesia is common right after waking from a coma.”

Four years _and_ six months of her life gone. Was this some sick joke? Her weak limbs argued that her situation was real. Shit. Yesterday, she'd been playing games. The day before that, she'd been swimming. Now, she could barely lift her arm. And she would never dance again. She was terrified of what her legs looked like.

“Your mother w-”

“Mom?” Rasped out sharply, fresh fear blooming. Had something happened to her mom too?

“I phoned her on my way up. She said she'd be by later this afternoon to see you.”

Her body relaxed as the fear and worry dissipated. Without thought, her eyelids sank over her sight.

 

Sniffing at the proffered wine, Morrigan responded to Leliana's brief reprisal of the conversation with Mother Gisele. “'Tis not such a surprise that they would want you as their next leader.” She sampled the wine, made an approving face, set it aside. “You are already powerful, well-connected, respected, and on occasion, you actually behave like you believe that nonsense they spout.”

“You'd be a great Divine, Leliana.” Alistair sipped, made a humming noise of approval. “The world needs someone who doesn't think the mages should be locked away again and who sees all the races as equals. We all bleed red, after all.”

While Leliana fumbled for a reply, Morrigan gasped and fluttered her hand. “Why, Alistair, there is a bit of a brain inside that skull of yours. Whenever did that happen?”

Alistair beamed at the witch. “Just you wait and see, Morrigan. I can even tie my own laces!”

“'Tis a miracle,” was her dry retort.

 

“Sydney! _Mon chou!_ ” Janine Nelson sobbed as she stepped into the room. Her hands came up over her mouth as emotion flooded her. Shining drops formed at the corners of her eyes, fell when she blinked.

“Hi, mom.” Sydney whispered back.

Janine fluttered to her side, scooped her daughter into a trembling, painful hug. “My baby is awake. I was terrified I'd never see your eyes open again.” She drew back. “The nurse said that you don't remember what happened to you.”

Tears had mirrored her mother's, and she rapidly blinked the blur away. “No.”

Another rapid hug, kisses on her cheeks. “Tourists found you at the beach.” Her face drained of color. “I saw pictures. There was so much blood.” She choked, and Sydney's imagination tried to fill in the holes. It wasn't pleasant. “They barely saved your leg.”

 

Keiran pulled a serious gaze up from his empty dinner plate. “Leliana, may I ask you a favor?”

Setting aside her last spoonful, Leliana glanced first to Morrigan, but the witch merely gave a haughty smile. How very unhelpful. “Of course.”

“Mother has done her best to train me to protect myself, but her knowledge of the physical martial arts aren't very extensive. Would you be willing to teach me how to use a dagger?”

While Alistair stuffed another bite into his mouth, Leliana considered. The Warden was a sword and shield warrior, not overly proficient with small blades, therefor Keiran would not ask him for help. There was no one else in his life. But why bother with daggers when he possessed magic? The answer came as a mental slap. Because a mage did not always want to announce his presence. Memories of dawn training clawed at her heart. “Hawke is quite good with daggers. It would be a fine excuse to get to know another powerful mage.”

The little boy's shoulders drooped. “Yes. It would.”

Morrigan's smile vanished.

Alistair chewed, eyebrows climbing high.

Blood and damnation! “But if you had your heart set on me as a teacher, then I can hardly turn you away. This is what friends do, no?”

The words' effect on the boy was as intense as a golden sunrise. “Truly?”

“Of course. I do warn you, training is at dawn on the ramparts, every other day, no matter the weather.”

“Leliana may be a harsher teacher than myself, Keiran.” Was that a compliment from Morrigan? “Perhaps you should consider her advice about learning from Kirkwall's Champion instead.”

“No.” Keiran's response was quick, confident. “I would learn from the best.”

Alistair let loose a hearty laugh. “Just like his mother!”

Leliana giggled with him. It was good to see that the shadows were retreating from the haunted Warden.

 

The interview, interrogation, went on for a while. Sydney had been awake for a week, and her stamina grew every day, but she was already exhausted at the end of an hour. Between the duration of her absence and the state in which she'd returned, the cops were in a tizzy. They couldn't stop asking the same questions over and over. Sydney didn't have any answers for them. Thinking about the scars that riddled her body, the crippled leg she now sported, she almost didn't want to know what had happened. Her thoughts drifted. It occurred to her that her favorite game series had probably put out its fourth installment while she was 'indisposed.' Unease gnawed at her insides. What the hell?

“Ms. Nelson?” The detectives were looking at her like they'd said her name a few times.

“Sorry, what?”

“I asked about the callouses on your hands. They were pretty intense, and we don't think you got them serving drinks.”

She managed to lift the appendages in question. Faint lines of scars covered them; only one of which was familiar. A knife had slipped while slicing limes one day, bit off a pea-sized chunk of her left thumb. The end of it was rounded and her nail was deformed. There weren't any callouses. Helplessly, she shrugged. “Dancing doesn't do that either.”

One of the detectives, Detective One Sydney's tired brain had named him after immediately forgetting the real one, flipped through the folder. “An expert was consulted, said that the callouses were consistent with weapons use.” Intense curiosity flared. “Swords, knives.”

Swords? A bark of laughter came out. “The only swords I'm good at are digital. I'm not a cosplayer or reenactor.”

Detective Two sighed as she pulled open her folder. “A good deal of your scars are consistent with them.”

“What, you guys think I went back in time and played a knight in Camelot? Come on!”

“Of course not, Ms. Nelson. What's really curious is that your other injuries look like they were caused by animal attacks. Big animals, the kind you'd find in a zoo. We're concerned that you were put into forced labor, maybe to watch some Cartel boss' tiger or may-”

Sounded like they were accusing her of owning the tiger herself. Sydney wanted to growl. White doctor's coat appeared between Sydney and the enthusiastic cops. “Amnesia is quite common in coma patients, especially those who have suffered severe trauma. It's possible that her memory will return over time.” She gave Sydney a reassuring glance. “She'll let us know.”

“Yea. Sure.” If the memories were as insane as the injuries, probably not.

Looking ready to argue, the lead detective made a wide gesture, but the doctor shook her head. “Ms. Nelson needs to rest. Why don't you leave your business card and wait for her to contact you?”

Best doctor ever.

“Just one more.”

Sydney rolled her eyes.

“Do you know who is paying your hospital bills?”

Uh. Insurance? Would it still be covering her after being declared dead? The state? “No. I hadn't asked. Shit. I'm going to be in debt the rest of my life, aren't I?” Multiple surgeries, months of coma treatment? The bills would easily have six figures, maybe even seven.

“Are you sure? We know that someone's been paying them. We just haven't found out who yet.”

 _“Someone's_ paying for them?” She squeaked. Who the hell was rich enough to do that? Well, Warren Buffet or J.K. Rowling, sure, but she didn't know any of the world's one percentile. Was she somebody's charity case? Why?

Dr. Abelmann stepped in again. “As you can see, detectives, my patient doesn't have any answers for you. It's time to go.”

 

Bitter wind drove light snow to bite at Leliana's cheeks, reminded her that winter was well on its way. If they were lucky, they had a few weeks before the passes through the mountains closed. Not even her exceptionally bred crows would be able to bring news to Skyhold once the snows settled in. From jagged peaks to courtyard, she switched her view. Returning soldiers littered the place, dealing with their tired mounts and hurrying the wounded to the newly restored section of Skyhold dedicated to healing. The losses at the Arbor Wilds had been heavy. Dark hair cut a swath through the crowd. If Morrigan had not drunk from the Well of Sorrows and brought the Inquisitor home through the eluvian that Corypheus had wanted so desperately...

The loss of the eluvian was a major blow to Corypheus. But it had merely been a battle, not the war. He would use the time that winter gave him to rebuild, to plan a fresh strategy for retaking the anchor and ripping asunder the sky once again. When he did, the Inquisition must be ready to face him. Leliana must be ready to shoulder her burden of spymaster once again. She had barely stumbled along these past two months since the battle at Adamant.

She had this winter to finish mourning Sydney. Then she and the Inquisition had to find out if they could beat Corypheus without the dancing knight. Naturally, Leliana's eye drifted to the sword. Like everything else, the stone that it rested in was coated in a layer of snow.

The sword refused to allow the stuff to settle upon it. Conjectures flew about the rumor mill, guessing why and how Andraste's Fire remained untouchable by hand or snow. In her mind's eye, Leliana pictured Sydney's hand about the sword. She took herself back to the first time she had laid eyes upon the woman. Strapped into her saddle, sick with exposure and rock tiger poison. Not a day later, the woman had risen from her sickbed to protect Leliana and strike down the crazed mages of that false-Andraste cult. A smile tugged at her lips. Sydney struck a heroic figure even in bare feet and dressing gown.

Had it truly been less than a year since then? “Sydney,” she breathed out. “I do not wish to mourn you.” She couldn't. Not now that she'd started to hope that Sydney was actually alive out there somewhere.

 

Gasping, Sydney shot out of her nightmare, and she stared wildly at the cityscape beyond the window. “Only a dream,” she whispered to herself.

_Come back to me._

Palming her face and rubbing vigorously didn't make the woman's haunting request stop echoing in Sydney's heart.

 

 


	16. Homesick

 

“ _Is this why the lady of the skies sent me? To help heal the wounds in her skin?”_

_-Sky Watcher of the Avvar_

* * *

 

 

Eight days later, a news reporter got a brief interview with Sydney, then aired a short story about her revival and unfortunate amnesia. In the days after, cards and letters from strangers and familiar names arrived. Janine told her that a few of Sydney's friends had come around the restaurant asking if it was okay to visit Sydney and what room she was in.

Melissa, her former roommate, popped in carrying an overloaded basket. The half-Puerto Rican simply dumped the package on the little dresser and left without speaking. Confused and a little hurt, Sydney watched the plump woman's retreat and dug into the basket. It was stuffed with some of Sydney's favorite foods, both healthy and complete shit, including a couple bottles of decent beer. Before a pesky hospital worker could come through and tell her not to, she cracked open a cool bottle and took a bubbly swig. She hiccuped and laughed and hiccuped more. A few swallows later, she discovered a card amongst the goodies. It had a simple note.

_You fuckin scared the piss out of me disappearing and reappearing like that. I'm never living with you again. Call me when you get out of that sterile hell._

That's right. Melissa hated hospitals, nearly had a phobia of them. For her to personally deliver a gift to Sydney in her hospital room was a huge deal.

“They let you drink in here?” Josiah, one of her oldest, dearest friends stood in the doorway.

Grinning, Sydney held up the other one. “They don't know about it yet. Melissa left five minutes ago. Crazy woman brought me this basket.”

Uncertainty all over him, he slowly entered, took the offered bottle. It popped open with a hiss and sent liquid down his throat. Pulling it away and looking at it, he nodded. “I saw her. She actually said hello to me.”

“You've stepped up in her books.” As if the crippled body wasn't enough proof that she'd been gone a long time, Melissa being pleasant toward Josiah cemented it. That chica was not friendly, especially to Josiah who had accidentally dated Melissa's boyfriend. Bastard had cheated on them both, but Melissa had blamed Sydney's friend. Guess it was easier to blame him than the guy she had feelings for.

Josiah nodded and sighed, his snowcloud-grey eyes traveling over Sydney. “We almost had a memorial for you last year, but Janine refused to allow it. When I went to talk to her about it, she looked me right in the eye, her face all deadly serious, and said in that angry French accent of hers, 'My baby is alive. She is alive and out there somewhere. Don't you dare start selling lies to the contrary.'”

Last night's unsettling nightmare about being chased by spiders in a twisting, evil green world layered onto Josiah's words. “I wonder if I was,” slipped out.

A choking noise came from Josiah, and he hurriedly set the beer down. “Where were you, Syd?”

 _Come back to me._ Back where? “I dunno.”

He sank to the mattress, head down, shoulders slumped. His thumbs rubbed together. “Did you plan on leaving?”

“No!”

His cheeks were damp as his eyes found hers. “Good, 'cause that's what I was tellin' anyone who asked,” sniffle, “Even when I wondered if it was true.”

Straining her weak muscles, she leaned forward and grabbed him for a hug. “Damn, Joze.”

Josiah turned and curled into her, crying for all he was worth. “I missed my best friend so much.”

Where the hell had she gone? _Come back to me._ She squeezed her best friend tighter. If she remembered, would she want to go back?

 

“Nightingale!” Beamed Varric at Leliana's hesitant approach. “Nice of you to join us.”

“I admit, my curiosity would not allow me to ignore your invitation.” Varric, Hawke, and the Iron Bull grinned at her. Cassandra poured a goblet of wine and patted the empty chair at her left.

“Sit, Leliana. Drink.” Cassandra's tongue was already thick with wine. “Listen to Varric sing one of Sydney's ridiculous songs.”

How many did they know that Leliana never would? She sat heavily, drank deeply of the offered wine. Hawke looked around. “What should we start with?”

“Wha' 'bout that I hate you one?” Sera chirped. Leliana cringed and had to agree with Sydney's assessment, that elf's voice had a gratingly high pitch. Was her singing voice any better? “Or the one 'bout bein' a freak like me?”

Perfect features swayed as Vivienne shook her head. “My dear, I am not yet drunk enough for your suggestions.”

Dorian stood, goblet in hand. “I know the perfect one.” The table faced him, and Trevelyan gave him a nod to go on. Dorian took a sip, cleared his throat, and drew a proper breath. Leliana felt her brow twitch in surprise. “I set fire to the rain,” filled and silenced the tavern. Leliana's jaw fell open in surprise at his powerful bass.

“That is _not_ how it begins.” Vivienne scolded.

“She's right, Snowflake,” chuckled Varric. “She sang it for you enough that you should know better.”

Under his mustache, his lower lip stuck out in a pout. “But I _like_ that part.”

“Oh, do it right, Dorian.” Vivienne waved her goblet at him. “It's one of the few that I enjoy,” a sly look was sent toward Leliana. “And I'm sure that our spymaster will enjoy it equally so.”

Softness came to Varric's features as Dorian's grew smug. “Yes. I believe she will. Very well.” Another light cough and inhale. “I let it fall, my heart,” came so much softer, “And as it fell, you rose to claim it.”

Her hand rose to cover her face as the romantic song continued on. Heat flushed from neck to ears. As embarrassing as it was, they were right. She loved the song, for its melody, its lyrics, and how it made her think of Sydney. Was every song about fire and love going to make her feel this way? At the end, she clapped with the rest. “You have a magnificent voice, Dorian.” She managed to get out before the rest of the tavern was demanding another song.

Varric clapped Leliana on the shoulder and leaned close. “Tiger didn't have the best voice, but she gave people fresh stuff.” He looked over to Dorian. “And a pretty good teacher too. Mind like a Shaper of Memories for songs. Way she says it, Dorian's version is good as the original even without instruments.”

“I don't know just how it happened.” Dorian began a somber tune. “I let down my guard.” He flashed his charming smile at the crowd. “Swore I'd never fall in love again, but I fell hard.”

“Will they all be romantic ballads?” She demanded of the meddling dwarf.

He looked up at her with unrelenting mischief. “Maybe.”

By the end of third song, Leliana felt like she was learning about a side of Sydney that she didn't know existed. Damned woman and her secrets. “How many songs did she teach you?”

“Syd could go on for hours.” Bull answered. “Had to get a few drinks in her at first, but she started singing on quests after a while. Think it helped with homesickness.”

Ale sloshing, Sera sprang up. “My turn!” Vivienne sighed and poured more wine. Little and pink, Sera stuck her tongue out. What came out of her next was like a yelling croon. “You thought you were there to guide me. You were only in my way. You're wrong if you think I'll be just like you.”

“Come now, Sera. You can't start in the middle like that,” challenged Vivienne.

“I'll bloody sing it how I like.”

“And ruin it.”

“Ruin it? Y'hate the song!”

“I know that one.” Leliana whispered. “I've been told that it's rather popular in the poor districts of Val Royeaux.”

Varric nodded. “Not surprising. Hey, Sparky, why don't you sing that one about Crypt 'O Night.”

Caught mid-drink Trevelyan coughed. “Um. Would you give me the intro?”

“It's his favorite, and he can never remember the beginning by himself. What kind of Inquisitor is he?” Cassandra swayed.

“One with a drunk Seeker,” was the man's good humored reply. “Varric?”

“I took a walk to ease my troubled mind.” Varric intoned, then proceeded to hum, obviously an intro.

“I took a walk to ease my troubled mind.” Trevelyan sang, “I left my body lying somewhere in the sands of time. I watched the world float to the dark side of the moon.”

From there, several others joined him, including Bull, Sera, and Dorian. Varric continued to hum a secondary melody. Leliana could see Trevelyan's relationship to the song, how he was seen as both hero and villain. It was an insight into him that her Nightingale side squirreled away.

“I'll keep you by my side with my superhuman might.” The chorus repeated. “Crypt 'O Night.”

“What does it mean?” She asked when it finished.

“Crypt 'O Night is like red lyrium.” Trevelyan scratched his beard.

Hadn't Sydney said that her world did not have magic? “Did she say that?”

The Inquisitor turned to the sound of another song being started on the other side of the tavern. A traditional ballad from Antiva “Sumfing 'bout a flyin' god, she said.” Sera hiccuped.

“Lady Sydney told us once after a bottle of rum.” Trevelyan shrugged in a way that said he had been too deep in his cups to remember.

“Or three,” laughed Bull. “Her stories got _really_ good the more we could dump in her. Made less sense too.”

“Carri'ges tha' fly like dragons!” Giggled Sera. “En music s'loud y' can feel it in yer bones!” Feet up, she flailed and crashed to the ground, splashing everyone nearby with ale.

“Ridiculous nonsense,” scoffed Cass. Her dark eyes fixed on Leliana. “And probably all true. Her stories are worse than Varric's that way.”

“You think my stories aren't true?” Varric's gasped. “Seeker, you wound me.” He turned sly again. “I happen to know that you're quite the fan of my stories.”

Pink rushed to Cassandra's already ale-flushed cheeks. “What are you talking about?” She pinned Trevelyan with a look that could kill. “What did you tell him, Maxwell?”

The man hid behind his tankard, and Varric pulled a book from under his chair. “He might have said something about you wanting the next chapter about a certain Knight-Captain.” It was held up. “A peace offering.”

 _Swords and Shields._ One of Varric's smutty novels. Terrible, yet entertaining. Leliana smiled at her old friend. Cass frowned deeper, her inner struggle terribly obvious.

“I couldn't finish the last one you lent me,” interrupted Dorian. “I actually feel dumber for having tried.”

While Cassandra looked ready to melt into the chair, Varric smiled wider at her. “Well, if you don't want it.” He started to put it away. “It still needs editing anyhow.”

“Wait!” Hands reaching out, she rose from her chair.

Varric couldn't look more pleased if he tried. “Ha! So you do want to know what happened to her after the last chapter.”

“Nothing should happen to her! She was falsely accused.”

“Well, it turns out that the guardsman...”

Irritation returned to the Seeker's tone. “Don't tell me!” She snatched the book away, held it to her chest as she scanned the crowded room. “I'll kill anyone who speaks of this again.” Adorable, really. Cassandra's inner romantic was sweet to see. Leliana filed the moment away to tease her with later.

“Of course, Seeker.” Varric rolled his eyes. “This is the part where you should be thanking me. I don't normally give sneak peeks, you know.”

Cassandra glared at the table. Leliana nudged her, received a black stare before the woman sighed. “Oh fine. Thank you, Varric.”

A clap of his hands and Varric redirected everyone's attention. “What shall we sing next?”

Hawke stood, her grin wide. “Twinkle, twinkle little star...”

Bull leaned back, laughing so hard that he upset his chair and joined Sera on the floor.

Chuckling at his antics, Varric's blue eyes met her own. “Makes you wonder about her world, doesn't it?”

Yes. It did. Maker's breath, she was curious about the world from which Sydney had come.

 

It was only a few days into physical therapy, and Sydney had developed a love/hate, mostly hate, relationship with her new companion: the granny walker. Her hands and shoulders ached, and she could only take two shivering steps before the trainer had to catch her. In a month, she might graduate to a cane. That she used _that_ as a mental cheer was sad, but it wouldn't be as bad as having to use a damned walker.

 

Yet another vivid dream swept into Leliana's mind, woke her panting and sweating and _absolutely_ sure of a single truth. “She's alive.”

She swept out of bed, into a robe and slippers, and rushed down the chilly corridor to Josephine's chambers. Without pause, she jammed her copy of the key into the lock and slipped inside, crying out and startling her friend. “Josie, wake up! She's alive!”

Holding a hand to her chest, gasping, Josie shot upright. “Blood and damnation, Leliana!”

Leliana was almost distracted by the ambassador's rare use of an obscenity, but her news spouted from her mouth. “She's alive, Josie. She's alive, and I have to find her.”

“Wha-who? Leliana, what are you going on about? What time is it?”

“Sydney,” she shook Josie's wrists. “My knight is alive!”

Josephine blinked and gasped for a breath before leaning forward and demanding, “How? How do you know?”

Taking a seat on the bed, “A dream, Josie. Andraste has been trying to tell me for weeks, but I've been too busy with being upset that I didn't listen until tonight. Sydney returned to her own world, and she's _alive._ ”

Her friend's face twisted. “Leli,” she began. “If I set a candle in front of your mouth, you'd breath fire. Maybe...”

“Ugh! I may yet be a little drunk, but this dream was _real._ ”

For some time, Josie stared at her. Reason and logic visibly did battle against faith and Leliana's emotional instability. “If you believe it is true, then so do I.”

“Thank you, Josie!” Squealed out as she hugged her.

Chuckling affectionately, “Yes, yes. Now, how do we find her?”

That. Yes. There was the problem. “I have no idea.”

“Lelianaaa,” was the suffering groan.

 

Weeks later, Sydney proudly hobbled on her glittery yellow cane. Or, that's the illusion she gave in public. At home, in her mom's condo, she would fantasize about breaking the fucking thing, then cry herself to sleep. Increasingly awful dreams, nightmares, didn't help her mood. The psychiatrist said that they might be returning memories until Sydney admitted that they seemed to take place in a video game world. Then she was told that it was her mind's way of coping with the lost years, that she might never recover her memories if the trauma was that severe.

As the weeks progressed, the dreams and nightmares didn't stop, only became more real, more painful and terrifying and sometimes wonderful. There were moments of joy, riding Epona through the Hinterlands, laughing and singing with her companions, defeating Cullen and Trevelyan in duels. The one kiss she shared with Leliana. Waking up to realize their impossibility was almost as bad as the nightmares. Dragons and demons chased her. Mages and Red Templars tried to skewer her. Tigers and Grey Wardens succeeded. The screams of those she had killed with the white fire followed her into her waking hours.

When she finally looked into the ending of _Inquisition,_ she stopped telling her shrink about her dreams. The events in the game nearly mirrored them. That was impossible. Beyond impossible. She'd barely gotten halfway through the game and had fastidiously avoided spoilers. Yet she remembered months of training and battles and reports of events that paralleled _Inquisition's_ story beyond what she had played.

She wasn't sure what was worse. Everything being true and real, or it all being a nightmare. Damn. Nightmare. The powerful old demon that she had attacked with a tiny little knife. She remembered a broken arm, yelling at Nightmare to distract it and give her companions a chance to escape, but nothing else. Nothing except pain. Lots and lots of pain.

Photos and video from the tourists who had found Sydney at the beach were easy enough to find, but she'd been avoiding it. Now, she needed to know. She enlarged the most popular one. Her mom had been right. There was blood everywhere, soaking the shorts and tank that she was wearing, staining the sand, coloring the waves licking at her toes. Under it all, ragged flesh, exposed muscle, even _bone_ shone in the bright sunlight. Seagulls and crabs had to be shooed away in the video. They thought she was a tasty afternoon snack.

She yanked a trashcan to her face and emptied her stomach into it.

Shakily, she got up, went to the balcony of her mother's condo, held tight to the railing. The fresh sea breeze helped, but her stomach churned with the images that matched her memories. Her leg had looked like a victim of a shark attack, and her face... was more horror-movie skull than a face. It was a miracle, the doctor had said, that her eyes hadn't been gouged out when the nose had been shorn off, cheek flayed open, and tooth ripped away.

Fingers reached, traced the thick scars that crossed her face and gave her hair new parts. Her tongue swiped the empty place between molars. She hated looking in the mirror, avoided them whenever she could. Her repaired face scared people. If she ever worked again, it wouldn't be for tips, or she'd starve. She'd never been drop-dead gorgeous or anything, but she had turned heads with her smile and lean dancer's body. Her body. Something about that tickled at her brain.

She went back to the tourists' pictures, studied what was hidden by the macabre. Muscle. The dancer's lean frame was gone, replaced by thicker, harder muscle. Dear God. She wiped at her face. Dream-memories of daybreak training with the spymaster, then the commander, battles and ambushes that had left Sydney sweating and gasping under the weight of her sword, buckler, and armor.

From the chair, she slowly stood and hefted her cane. It didn't weigh nearly as much as her sword had, but it was near the same length. She closed her eyes and thought about the stance that Cullen had drilled into her. Opening them, she slowly went through a training sequence slightly adjusted for her weak leg and ended with her successfully stabbing the ceiling fan's dangling chain-charm as though it was an enemy's eye.

“Sydney?” Holding a takeout bag in a limp hand, her mom stood in the doorway staring at her. “ _Mon chou...”_

“I was just,” definitely not dancing. Janine had seen her dance enough times to know that was most certainly not what had been happening. “I remembered where I was, what I was doing.”

Janine's face creased in worry.

She returned her cane to its normal job, and her leg sighed in relief. “You're not going to like it.”

 

Leliana scuffed her boots and did her best to knock the snow off of them before stepping into Skyhold's modest Chantry. She returned Mother Gisele's smile from around a soldier's head and made her way to the candle-strewn front. She lit one and knelt, bowing her head. “Andraste has told me that Sydney lives.” She whispered. “What must I do,” her eyes drifted across the tiny, dancing flames. “Where must I go to find her?”

 

“Sydney!” Her mom called as she came in through the door from an afternoon of swimming, the only activity that didn't remind her of how crippled she was. “You've got mail from a lawyer.”

Great. There it was. Somebody wanted money out of her that she didn't have. Janine sat on the couch beside her, holding out the large, flat envelope. “Thanks, mom.” Sydney tossed it to the coffee table.

Janine frowned. “Aren't you going to open it?”

“I wanna open that as much as you want to open your credit card statement.”

She got a laugh. “But, maybe it's an explanation from whoever is paying your medical bills, _mon chou._ Open it.”

Her mother wouldn't let it rest, her curiosity couldn't handle it. “Fine. Hand it t-” The envelope popped into her hands. “Thanks,” she drawled.

Pulling the tab that opened it, Sydney stopped breathing. She dumped the contents into her other hand. A key, a credit card, a letter on professional stationary, and a second, letter-sized envelope. The letterhead was a local attorney's office, and the short message was not what she'd expected. All it said was that the other letter was from their client and that said client wished to remain completely anonymous. Any questions or responses could be sent to their office. Thanks for her time. Her breath returned.

She handed it over to her squirming mom and went on to the next envelope.

 

_Dear Ms. Sydney Nelson,_

 

_I found your circumstances to be quite extraordinary and curious. That is why I chose to take on responsibility for your medical expenditures. As you are probably aware, all expenses related to your stay at Jackson Memorial have been settled. This includes your current and future physical therapy._

_I have also arranged for a modest stipend until you are able to earn a living for yourself once again. Think of it this as a 'paying it forward' idea if you'd like. I wish nothing of you, save that you regain your health. This choice may seem a large thing to you, but it is something I can happily do._

_The key will unlock an apartment (please see the address on the second page) which I do hope will be appropriate for your needs. Rent and household invoices are on automatic payments. The credit card has a thousand dollar limit, and the statement will be paid monthly._

 

_Sincerely,_

_Your devoted benefactor._

 

What a fantastically cryptic and fairly creepy letter. Leliana would have studied it for hours, looking for hidden meaning and clues to its owner. She reread it again before allowing her mother to yank it from her hands. Janine's jaw swung loose and her eyelids flew apart. Surprise quickly shifted to doubt and fear.

“I'm calling the police immediately to check on this lawyer.” Janine announced.

Sydney handed her the phone and wondered if this person knew how or why she'd ended up in fantasy world.

Half an hour later, they knew that the law firm was completely legit. Decades of public service, and the particular lawyer handling her anonymous patron was well regarded. What else was there to do except to accept the free apartment? Sydney loved her mother, but she desperately wanted the freedom being offered her. It was hard enough being a cripple. Living under her mother's roof again, having her fuss and worry as though Sydney was six again was a special kind of stress that she was sick of.

“Are you sure you'll be alright?” Janine asked. Again. For the millionth time.

Sydney gathered her patience. Again. “Yes, mom.” It felt like talking to Trevelyan. She almost missed the bratty nobleman. How long had it been for those in Thedas since the fight in the Fade? A couple months? She wiggled her sandy toes. Eight months in the world of _Dragon_ _Age_ had equaled what, fifty-five in her birth-world? How the hell did that work? She chalked it up to shit she'd never understand, like whether gods existed.

 

No answers had been given at the altar. None had come in the past several nights either. Leliana watched a burning light spit across the night sky. With the moon but a crescent, the stars were bright, so bright that few torches had been lit along the pathways of Skyhold. It was a beautiful night that she wished she had a partner to share with.

“You seem awfully keen on the stars this night.” Silent as always, Morrigan had snuck up on her. “I find it a strange thing to see you so pensive. 'Tis unnatural over the memory of that air-headed Chantry wench I met in Lothering.”

Void take this unpleasant witch. Saying nothing seemed a better choice than airing her thoughts.

“I've heard that Andraste sent you a message.”

She nodded.

“So.” Morrigan leaned back on the stone wall, her hood falling to reveal her pale face as she gazed upward. “Our friend has returned from whence she came. That does explain why no trace of her could be found in the Fade.” Her disturbing eyes rolled down to watch Leliana. “The voices say they felt the movement of powerful magic around the time that your fire-dancer arrived.”

Leliana snapped to face the witch. “What?” Thoughts only for a path to Sydney, she grabbed up handfuls of fur-lined coat and yanked the witch close. “Tell me everything you know.”

Rage flared, but unexpectedly vanished, and Morrigan's face took on a motherly note. “'Tis not much, but the magic was felt again the day of Adamant's fall.” Displeasure crawled across her features. “Though it pains me to admit, the voices confirm your dream. I am forced to re-examine the legends of Andraste.”

Aside from kneeling and paying obeisance to the Maker, nothing more momentous could have come from Morrigan. Though she eased her tense closeness to Morrigan, her hands remained full of coat as she looked over the witch's shoulder. “She is alive, yet I have no idea for how to reach her. It's not as if I can step through an eluvian and...” A star dropped from the heavens, burned away its last moments. Her gaze returned to Morrigan's. “Trevelyan told us about the place you called the Crossroads, about the thousands of dark eluvians.”

“Yes. Most of which require a key. They are lost or hidden.”

“They might be a way to find Sydney.”

A hand touched her own in a remarkable gesture. “Leliana, I have already studied and experimented with such an idea.”

Doubt was quickly ignored. “But you do not love her as I do, nor did you ask Andraste for help.” Dark eyebrows pinched. “You will take me. In three days. That should be enough time to put my affairs in order in case this works.”

The hand tightly gripped hers. “You are correct. I do not love her enough to risk a one-way journey, but I would help see her return.” A breath, and she let go. “It may be best to _not_ tell everyone that you're leaving. If you do not go anywhere, you will look a worse fool. If you tell too many, they may prevent you from the attempt.” Morrigan sighed and laced her tone with its usual hauteur. “'T'would be best if you simply leave me with letters to deliver upon your exit from this realm.”

There was a good friend under all that arrogance. Leliana shifted her grip to wrap Morrigan in a hug. Long enough for the witch to squeak, she squeezed her and pulled away. “If you do that for me, I promise not to tell anyone that you have the ability to be kind.”

Morrigan sneered at her and smoothed out her coat. “Not that anyone would believe you.” She whirled and took a step, but stopped, whipped back around. “You _will_ give Keiran a proper goodbye, or I will not help.”

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songs, in order:
> 
> Sera suggests I Hate Everything About You by Three Days Grace and Freak Like Me by Halestorm  
> Set Fire to the Rain – Adele  
> Addicted to You – Avicii  
> Just Like You – Three Days Grace  
> Kryptonite – 3 Doors Down


	17. However Impossibly

 “ _We are sentinels tasked with standing against those who trespass on sacred ground. We wake only to fight, to preserve this place.”_

_-Abelas, guardian of Mythal's temple_

* * *

 

 

“We're going out for karaoke,” Josiah said the moment Sydney opened the door.

“Hello to you too.”

He looked her up and down, frowning at her faded t-shirt and gym pants. “You've got jeans and shirts that aren't stained. Go put them on.”

Back to him, she hobbled her ass to the couch again. “No. And no. This face isn't getting up on a stage in front of people.” Studiously, she put her nose in a magazine. It took her several minutes to realize that Josiah wasn't in the room anymore. Had he left? Noise coming from down the hall dismissed that idea. What was he doing? “Joze?”

From her room, he stalked, arms full of stuff. He dumped it beside her and had her shirt halfway over her head before she started to struggle. “You.” He yanked the shirt away, _ripped_ it from collar to hem. A clean, pink thing was shoved in her hands. “Are putting this on, or I will dress you like a Barbie.” Straightening, he balled the ruined shirt up. “I'm going to mix up a couple drinks. You'll be changed by the time I finish.”

Too shocked to be angry, Sydney stared at his back, blinked as he threw her shirt away, and gaped as he took out glasses and bottles. Over the breakfast bar, he shot her a glare. She popped the fresh shirt on and went for her pants. “Guess I'm getting hammered tonight.” She whispered to her cane.

The pants were struggling over her butt when a drink was set in front of her. “We should go shopping too. Those are too small.”

Her soft stomach poked out over the top. She rubbed at it. “I'm fat now.”

“You've only been awake for seven months. It's kind of a miracle that you're walking and swimming by yourself. I'm relieved to see flesh on you again.” He sipped his concoction, grimaced. “What did I leave out?”

She tasted it. “Grenadine.”

Joze got up, took both drinks back to the kitchen, and she smiled watching him fix his bungle. He'd never been a good bartender, but he'd always made sweet tips because he was so damn friendly. That he had adorable dimples and perfect blonde hair and the typically sexy Miami body helped. He made a better restaurant manager. Sydney wasn't quite surprised when her mom had said that she'd hired Joze for that position shortly after Sydney had vanished. Janine paid him better than she should, treated him like family, and worked him harder than anyone else. Not just him, but the entire staff.

Lobster's Folly had never had better profits.

Sadly, but happily, Sydney smiled at the name of her father's boat. People had laughed at Janine when she'd first named her classy restaurant that. Reservations were always full and never taken more than three months in advance. Janine insisted that half the place be unreservable to allow for casual walk-ins and tourists. Since upgrading to a cane, Sydney helped as best she could.

Which wasn't much. Before and after open hours, she could stock, clean, help with bookkeeping. To a degree. And she hated it. She missed it when people didn't stare at her in disgust or fear, missed being around people who smiled and laughed with her. It had driven her to finding fencing classes and secretly joining PTSD support groups.

Behind the fencing mask, it didn't matter what she looked like, and she got to practice a skill that she shouldn't have. At the support groups, she wasn't the only scarred person. War vets sported missing limbs and scars worse than her own. She felt at ease with them. They understood her nightmares, and their understanding had been the final clincher in her acceptance that her dream-memories were real, however impossibly.

The drink was in front of her again. Joze was frowning. How long had she been zoned out? “Sorry.”

He tasted and gulped at his drink. “Syd?”

“It's better,” was her response from around the rim.

“When were you going to tell me that you've been going to meetings with people who've been to war? Or that you can fence?”

The drink went back in one long swallow. She couldn't look at him. “Mom told you.”

“She's worried.” His own glass was set aside. “I'm worried. You're,” his frown grew deeper. “Not the same Sydney.” She picked at her nails. “The way you act sometimes, it reminds me of my brother when he came back from Afghanistan.”

She needed a manicure.

“Which makes me glad that you're getting help with whatever happened to you. That part about you hasn't changed.” He carefully picked up her hand, tugged until she looked at him. “You're still the bravest person I know.” The corners of lips twitched with amusement. “But come on, couldn't you have told me that you learned fencing? You know I would love to go to a match. Fencing pants are tight.”

His lechery made her smile back. “I can't believe you're single again.”

Josiah's laugh was light and relieved. “He was jealous of you. I couldn't handle that.”

“And the pretty Austrian you raved about all last month?”

“She was _amazing_ in bed. God, Syd, the threesomes we had.” Dramatically, he flopped back into the couch, peered up at her with starry eyes. “Europeans are the best. They don't think bisexual men are odd. And she was more flexible than you ever were. I was _devastated_ when she decided to commit to a monogamous relationship with Dan.”

Sydney smacked his arm. “Quit fantasizing about me.” Leliana would flay him alive if she knew. Maybe. Probably not. How many times had she rejected Sydney?

Abruptly, he became serious. “Will you tell me about it?”

About how she'd been a complete ass and pushed and pushed for a relationship that Leliana clearly did not want? _Come back to me._ Or had she? “Mom didn't believe me at first.”

“We've been friends since high school, Syd. I can see that crazy stuff happened to you, crazy enough that you never told the cops.” His eyes raked her face. “Anyone can see that crazy stuff happened to you. I'm worried about my best friend.”

Keeping it from him any longer wasn't an option. She wanted someone aside from her mother to talk to about it. “I taught a necromancer to sing Adele.”

 

First to know was Cassandra. She would be the most difficult to convince, but it was essential to tell her. The Seeker would keep Leliana's choice as replacement from going astray and support Josie when the younger woman received her letter. Cullen might be understanding. If it was explained to him strategically, that Sydney's return was essential to Corypheus' defeat. There was too great a chance that Trevelyan might force her to stay, might convince her that Sydney would return if the Maker willed it.

He didn't take much stock in her dreams. Justinia had, as had Cousland. Sydney would have. Reassured, Leliana strode up to where Cassandra was predictably thumping away at practice dummies, the live kind. The poor soldiers heaved with exertion while Cassandra sighed at them. “You are too slow.”

“A word, Cassandra?” Leliana asked.

“Go. Drink something before you pass out.” The young men stacked their dulled practice swords and yanked off helmets as they escaped. Cassandra set her own among them and gestured for Leliana to walk with her. “What is it?”

“I dreamed that Sydney is alive.”

Cassandra's feet stilled. “Truly?”

“Yes. Andraste returned her to her own world.” Nobles drew close, and they exchanged pleasantries until Cassandra bid them an abrupt farewell. Leliana giggled at her. “Your tact is as poor as ever.”  
“You know I have little patience for court intrigue, especially when there is something more important to discuss.” Quickly, she guided them to a quiet spot overlooking the lower courtyard. “Andraste sent her home?”

“Yes.”

Cassandra looked down. “Will she come back?”

“I'm going to find her.” She met the dark gaze that shot up. “And if she wants to come back, I'll bring her.”

“If she does not?”

“Then I will stay with her, if she will have me.” She readied herself for the upcoming argument.

“I see.” Creases deepened along her brow. “You know how to get to her world?”

She sucked in a breath. “The eluvians. Morrigan will help me.”

“I do not trust that witch.” She rubbed at the bridge of her nose. “But Sydney did. You do. I will give her the benefit of the doubt. Have you told Josephine yet?”

Where was the argument? “No. I'm going to leave letters for everyone.”

“Then you are leaving quickly.”

“Yes.”

“Josephine will be furious that you did not say goodbye. She will be especially upset if you do not return.” Cassandra dropped her hand and sighed. “I will miss you.”

That was it? “You aren't going to argue against my leaving?”

She was pinned under the Seeker's sharp eyes. “Why should I? Sydney's return would be good for all of us. If she does not, you will never be happy, and the Inquisition will suffer for it. I would forever regret holding you back.” Her voice became a growl, “Varric is going make a fortune if he writes of your romance.”

It was a beautiful tragedy, especially if neither of them were seen again. “And you would read it.”

“I cannot believe Maxwell told Varric.”

“Maxwell is it?” Leliana prodded.

Cassandra huffed. “He has earned my respect and my friendship.”

“So he doesn't read you poetry late at night?”

The warrior threw her arms up. “Who has been spreading these rumors? Sera? He reads to all of us before serenading his dear Lace Harding.”

Their lead scout? “A nobleman, let alone the Inquisitor, courting not only a commoner, but a dwarf.” She laughed. “Deliciously scandalous. The courts will eat it up.”

“Their flirtations are,” Cassandra shifted from angry warrior to soft woman, “Quite romantic.”

Wondering if Sydney would ever read her poetry, Leliana sighed.

“That woman would do anything you asked her to.” Had she spoken aloud? “You would never survive a day in your beloved Great Game in this state.”

Finger twisted fingers, “If I do not find her, I may go mad.”

“Leliana, if both you and the Maker wish for Andraste's Knight to be found, then no force in this world or Sydney's could stop you.” Her hands found Leliana's shoulders. “I do hope that you find her.” Cassandra embraced her, squeezed her tight enough for Leliana to be glad for the lack of plate mail. “And I hope that you both come back,” choked, her voice made tears prickle. She thrust Leliana back and glared at her. “You must come back. With both of you gone, Sera will be unmanageable.”

“Here I was led to believe that Sydney and Sera did not get along well.”

Hand coming to her forehead, “They were not overly friendly, but shared a mutual respect. Sydney could sometimes convince her not to play idiotic pranks on nobles.”

“When the Red Jenny wasn't convincing Sydney to do them.” Her sour tone crooked Cassandra's interest.

“Oh?”

“I'm sure you remember the day that Josie got a bucket of water dumped on her?”

“I was quite glad to leave the day after.”

Leliana relaxed into a chair. “The two of them also stuffed my boots with horse shit.”

Cassandra stared at her, then fell into laughter. _“That_ you might have deserved.”

“Cassandra!”

“Oh, Leliana. You were positively cruel to her, and you know it.” Shaking her head, short raven hair barely moving, “The woman was heartbroken.” She frowned deeper. “And though I didn't notice it then, she was incredibly homesick. Then she was thrust into battle, and,” she paused. “Did anyone ever tell you how badly she reacted to demons?”

Trevelyan had mentioned that they were uncommonly attracted to her, and Vivienne had added that if she'd been a mage, she likely would've become an abomination. “She had a great weakness to them.”

“More than that. It was as though she had _no_ defense against them.”

What else had Sydney gone through that Leliana did not know about? “You are holding more back.”

Grunting in annoyance, Cass nodded. “Having a spymaster and former Left Hand for a friend has its low points.”

“Cassandra.” She admonished.

“I should not have brought this subject up. It will only upset you.”

She was already worried. “Whatever it was, Andraste's Knight survived it. Just tell me already.”

Leaning back against the wall, Cassandra sighed. “The first demon to attack her was a despair demon. She fell prey to its mere presence in seconds. If it wasn't for Sera knocking her unconscious, she would have struck herself down with her own sword.”

It was a good thing that Leliana was already sitting. “No.”

“She was as weak against demons as they were drawn to her. If she did not have the fire to protect her...”

Imagined battles filled her mind.

“We learned to use their attraction to her against them, and she began to build a resistance to them.” She paused, settled her intense gaze on Leliana. “It makes me wonder what may happen to you in her world.”

 

 


	18. A Terrified Villager

 “ _Now 'dead' and 'not dead' are up for debate. That's wonderful.”_

“ _This conversation has just taken a turn for the moronic. Just come with us. We're going to fight Alexius.”_

_-Iron Bull and Dorian Pavus_

* * *

 

 

Ice cream slid across Sydney's tongue, down her throat. “I swear to you, Joze, every time I try to read about, buy, or ask someone to tell me what happens in the latest _Dragon Age_ , something interrupts.”

Around his orange slices, he laughed. “It's all in your head, Syd.” He pulled out his phone, unlocked it with his insane 12-digit code, and poked out a search. “It says here that, what the fuck?” The screen was flashing, going all buggy and colorful. It flared bright white and went dark before rebooting.

She took another spoonful. “Told you.”

His pretty face wrinkled unhappily. “I'll try again in a minute. Must be a glitch or something.” While she enjoyed her ice cream and watched the accurate, if exaggerated, sword fight, he battled with his phone. Eventually, he shoved it into a pocket and swore.

“These guys aren't bad.”

Josiah brought his attention back to the show being put on at the renaissance faire that he had insisted they check out when they'd been drunk off their asses the other night and discovered there was one nearby in Deerfield. She suspected that he'd researched it plenty and had been itching to get her to it for a while. “Aren't these things scripted?”

“Some might be. I don't think this one is. They're trying too hard.” And the red knight won. The announcer got the crowd clapping and cheering and announced another spectacular duel. She sucked down the last of her ice cream, twitched at the sensation of being watched. “What, Joze?”

“Could you have beat him?”

Before Nightmare, easily. Even without fire. Now? “Maybe.” The shorter opponent could use some footwork training.

“We stand out too much. Let's go get our medieval on.” He was standing and plucked at his silk button up. “Halloween in March.” Childish glee made him bounce on his toes. “I'm so getting my Halloween gear today.” Sydney was tugged up from her seat. “C'mon, Syd!”

If she wasn't tied to her cane, he'd probably have made her run. He did force her to hobble as fast as she could to the nearest clothing shop.

Joze still didn't quite believe her. This whole thing was too much fun for him, and she didn't blame him. He was doing his best to be a good friend to her, and she appreciated it, didn't punish him for his understandable disbelief. “You look good in that color. Get it.” She advised.

He grinned down at the outfit that was perfect for a Florida “winter” day. Emerald green, velvet doublet over lighter green hose and ruffled cream blouse. The blushing girl who'd been helping him added, “You should get a codpiece and shoes to finish it.”

Codpieces. She laughed, “Please! Cover it up!” Dorian had hated them, complained that they made men liars. Josiah peeked down, then thrust his hips at her, making the hose press more tightly to his manhood. “Ugh! Stop it.” Covering her eyes, she turned away.

Laughing happily, he told the salesgirl to help him finish his ensemble and eyed Sydney. “Thought you'd have gone for something else.”

Cotton top, red bodice, blue trousers, and sturdy shoes. Simple, well-fitting, and comfortable. It was a compromise between her need to be battle-ready, and her wanting to enjoy acting like a girl. “What? You expected me to wear a suit of plate mail?”

He shrugged and colored a little. “Not _plate_...”

“We'll go look at swords next, okay? You can buy me one to strap on.”

“Strap on.” He snickered.

Rolling her eyes, thinking that Sera would like him, “Idiot.”

 

After doing a double-take at Sydney's face, the weapons vendor smiled at them like she did at the kid holding up a movie replica and quoting lines. Fondling a heavy broadsword, overly decorated and highly impractical, Josiah was probably imagining himself in some movie too. She smiled and cast her attention over the various weapons, started to pick up one, but immediately didn't like the balance, set it down. Three more, and she found a blade similar in length and build to Andraste's Fire. The balance was good, and the grip fit her hand nicely. She held it aloft, considered the blade's edge and quality. Movement caught her eye, and she twisted the sword into readiness.

“Thee art not the usual customer, m'lady.” Slightly nervous, the vendor laughed around her spotty Elizabethan English.

Sydney lowered the blade, caught sight of Josiah's astonished face. “I'm not?”

“Nay. Thee art looking for a practical blade, not one to hang on thy wall.” The woman was a bit older, a few wrinkles around her eyes and silver in her braided hair.

Heat pricked her cheeks. “I suppose I am.”

“And I would sayeth thee art practiced in the ways of swinging one.”

The gleaming sword was easier to look at, but a wave of irritation swept away her shyness and stiffened her spine. She lifted her head and looked Joze right in the eye. “Yes. I've got a lot of practice with swords and knives, but my friend doesn't really believe me.” Back to the vendor. “Know anywhere that I prove him wrong?”

“There be a knife throwing lane.” She scratched her head. “And me husband gives lessons for a few coin. Mayhap he could be convinced to put on a bit of show.”

“A show for what?” From the back bellowed a man's good-natured demand.

“The lady wanteth to prove to the lord here that she can swing a sword.”

“Tournament's only for pre-registered knights. I show mere basics.” Her husband shrugged. He didn't look twice at Sydney's face, and she immediately loved him for it.

Oh well. Sydney began to replace the sword to its display. “Thank you anyway.”

“But, I haven't had many customers today. I heard one boy tell his mom that I looked too boring to be a good teacher.” He grumbled.

“Howard, thy language!”

Her husband sighed. “Do you mind if I drop it?”

Sydney gestured nonchalantly. “It's fine.”

“See, the customer doesn't mind, Rosemary.” Triumphant, he smiled at his wife. Rosemary scowled, but kept quiet. “Anyway. If you really want to show off your skills, I'd be happy to give you a few minutes in the ring. Might drum up some business if they see some real swordsmanship!”

“Really?” Josiah asked.

“But,” Howard slowly perused Sydney. “It'd be best if we padded you up first.” He raised an eyebrow at the cane. “Can you fight with that?”

“Well enough without it.”

Rosemary looked troubled. “Are we sure this is a good idea, Howard?”

He swooped in and kissed her square on the lips. “It'll be fine, dear. Oh look, customers.”

A gaggle of people in costume had appeared. “Good morrow, friends!” Rosemary greeted them, leaving her husband to his whimsy.

“But first, you might need a sword.” He eyeballed the one she'd put down. The expensive three hundred dollar one.

“Joze.” Sydney smiled prettily as he balked at the price tag. “You know you want to see me fight.”

“Oh, fine.” He pulled out his wallet, handed over his credit card. He plopped a pretty dagger on the counter too, but Sydney scowled at it, replaced it with a sleeker, better made one. No friend of hers was going to wear something that shoddy. Especially not on his own dime.

 

As Howard led them to his teaching ring, he suggested for Sydney to tie up her hair. She fished out a hairband and swept the top half of her hair into a tail. Watching Howard pluck items from a rack, she went through a few stretches. Thick, heavy, stinking of sweat, padded cotton armor was handed to her, gloves were dropped on the pile, then a blunted practice sword. Taking a finely sharpened sword to a friendly sparring bout was simply not good form.

Despite the hot confines of the cotton armor and unfamiliar sword, she felt good. Great. It also woke up her longing for the smell of elfroot and Epona, the sound of her companions' trail banter, and Leliana's musical laughter.

“Are you ready?” Howard's question reminded her that she was supposed to be readying herself for a little bout. She considered if maybe daggers would have been a better display. She threw that thought out before it finished. Daggers required smooth footwork much like dancing. Not that a sword didn't, but the greater reach would help minimize her handicap. She set aside her cane.

Sword up, she saluted him and took a ready pose. He began. Gently. Very gently. It gave her time to remember the feel of a heavier sword. The foil she used in fencing classes was a bloody toothpick compared to the length of steel currently in her hand.

_Clang!_

Their swords met, Howard starting to put strength behind his blows. She smiled. “I'm warmed up now.”

The man held his stomach while he laughed. “I'll be honest, Sydney. I didn't expect you to be this good.” His head swiveled, admired the little crowd they were drawing. “I'm excited!”

“Don't hold back, or I'll continue to surprise you.”

He prodded with a forward thrust that she parried, tried to counterattack, but Howard danced away, fast and healthy for a grey-haired man. Demanding that her crippled leg not give out, she pushed herself.

In the dance of blades, the more able-bodied managed to disarm Sydney of the heavy weapon with a solid blow to her hand. He went to end the match. To avoid the thrust to her chest, she let her crippled leg fold, rolled with it, and came up with the sword in her off-hand. She parried his following attack neatly and pressed when his surprise gave him an opening.

She was inside his guard, sword arm forcing his own away, her blade at his throat, their breaths close enough to smell. And there, she watched fear pale the flush from his tanned cheeks. His swallow moved his flesh against scarred steel. Had the blade been sharp, his flesh would have parted, and a mere flick of her wrist would have opened a fountain of blood.

“I yield,” whimpered out.

The customary admittance of defeat pushed her away to a polite distance where she saluted the man. “A good match, ser. You fought well, and I thank you for it.”

He blinked, and she realized her slip into the antique style of tongue common in Thedas, to the way she'd grown used to talking to soldiers and others who Cullen had liked to pit her against. At the faire, it would go mostly unnoticed. Howard might wonder why she hadn't been using it when she'd come into the shop. His eyes flicked to their cheering audience, a smile appeared on his face, and he saluted her in return.

“Aye, lass. I thank you for not hurting more than my pride.” He winked. “Mayhaps you should take my place as teacher here!”

It was his ability as an entertainer that brought out her own actress. “You flatter me, ser. I have not the stamina for these eager souls!” She gathered a smile and turned. They saluted the crowd together.

She did stick around for a little while, chatting with curious people, explaining that she studied fencing and loved coming to ren faires for the sword bouts. That most of them were in the mood of the faire, they took her scars as part of the show and treated her like a knight. It delighted as much as it hurt her. In Thedas, the scars would only cause alarm among the upper crust who paid others to fight for them. War was too common in everyday life there. Unlike here, where war was a thing fought in far-off deserts and jungles, among foreign cultures against people who would probably never see these shores.

“I got you some ice.” Josiah held out a baggie of chipped ice.

“Thanks.” The swollen flesh of her hand hissed at its touch. Though the glove had absorbed most of the damage, she was going to feel this bruise for a while. Howard was not a weak man.

Her friend shifted awkwardly before sitting next to her on the hay bale, and she frowned at him. He wiped sweat from his neck. “I believe you, Syd. I don't think I've ever seen someone move like you did in there, not even in a movie.”

She nodded.

“I mean, maybe someone who hadn't come out of a coma half a year ago and gimps around on a fucking cane. Yea. But you freaking switched hands! You beat him with your left hand!” He stood up. “Holy shit!”

Calm settled in her chest. “You should have seen me when I was whole.” She opened her hand, studied the calloused palm. “When I could wield fire.” Joze stopped fidgeting, and she met his wild gaze. “I was a knight, Joze. My friends were soldiers and mages and dwarves and spies.

I've fought men and demons, dragons and undead. I stood before death a thousand times. I fell in love and had my heart ripped out.” She sighed. “I'll never feel right in this world again.” As she never quite had in Thedas.

His butt crunched back to the hay, and he flung his arms around her. “You are scarier than your mother, did you know that?”

“Aw,” cooed a high female voice from close by. “It is so sweet to see a man totally comfortable with a powerful woman like you.”

Sydney found herself looking at a teenage girl who had half a face of rippled burn scars under a pretty yellow scarf. Her hand touched her own scar.

“How long have you two been together?”

Joze coughed out a laugh. “Me and Syd? The lesbian community would be up in arms if such a calamity transpired!”

Their shoulders bumped in friendly conspiracy. The girl blinked. “Wow. I didn't think you could get any more inspirational.”

“Inspirational?” Sydney squinted.

“Differently abled, aesthetically challenged lesbian kicking major ass. You just took away all of my excuses for applying to performing arts colleges.” She held up her phone. “I just put up the video I took of your fight.” Abrupt as a cloud covering the sun, her blunt demeanor went shy. “Could I take a selfie with you to add to my blog?”

Josiah answered for her. “Sit here,” grinning as he popped up. “Syd would love to take a picture with you, hon.”

“I would?”

“You would.”

“I would.” She slipped into the new order of the moment. “Let's take a selfie.”

“Wait. Does it have to be a selfie?” Joze asked. “Want to take a picture with her sword at her side?”  
The girl's expression went dreamy, and Sydney shook her head. “That looks like a yes.” She stood and tied the sheathed blade to her belt over her right hip. A little tugging, and she felt ready to face a despair demon. Obeying the faire's rules of peace-tied swords, she kept it sheathed. She laid her cane on the hay bale and let her good leg take her weight. Hand on the sword hilt, she waited in her best stoic-Cassandra imitation. Yes, she could go up against a high dragon with naught except a butter knife and come out victorious.

Sydney watched the girl's awe and excited nod. She handed her phone to Josiah. Proudly, she posed next to Sydney while he took at least half a dozen photos. “Wait, Syd. Hon, would you take one for us?”

Passing over his phone, he posed in a terrified villager kind of way. Sydney tried to bite him. They switched. Then they had plastic forks in their hands and were facing off. Their backs went to each other, and she channeled Vivienne on her finest, bitchiest, most awe-inspiring day.

“One more,” Joze squealed, dragging her into a tight side-hug. “Cheese!”

Sydney automatically grinned her own personal idiot-smile.

They exchanged names and a few anecdotes. Joze had the girl text him the url for her blog, and they separated. Howard was incredibly busy signing up kids and adults for lessons over the next month, and simply waved as Sydney gestured her departure. “Ale next.” She demanded, making a limping bee-line for the closest vendor. Her leg ached, and her emotions were a little frayed. She wanted to dull the edge.

Foamy pints between them, Joze was going through the pictures. He passed it over for her to browse. Even without armor, the woman in the image was intimidating. A text blipped. She poked the provided link and went to the blog page, watched the video. Her footwork was sloppy, but understandable. Her bladework was atrocious and would've made Cullen sigh. She had won because she fought for blood, knew how to ignore pain, and had the neat trick of switching sword arms. It wasn't easy. Cullen had bound Sydney's right arm to her body for two weeks to force her brain into using the left. It had been a miserable two weeks. Training with Leliana had been even worse.

Joze poked her. “Hey. Where are you?”

“Waiting for my dawn session with the master of knives and shadows at the edge of earth and sky.” Memories of ice made her shiver.

“Did you start writing poetry when you became a knight, Syd?”

Trevelyan's obsession with reading his poems to his companions over the evening fire and getting their feedback made her smile. She hoped that he was still courting that adorable dwarf scout. Or had moved on to kissing her. “Not me, but my friends did.” The Nevarran princess wasn't very good at hiding her love of romantic poetry, any kind of romantic literature really.

“If you find a way back, would you go?”

How many times had she already asked herself that?

 

 


	19. Thought Became Reality

 “ _Impressive view. Reminds me of my home in Kirkwall. I had a balcony that overlooked the whole city. I loved it at first. But after a while, all I could see were the people out there depending on me.”_

_-Marian Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall_

* * *

 

 

Through the enormous, ornately decorated, shimmering portal that Morrigan had led her to, Leliana stepped. An eternity and a heartbeat later, she emerged in a foggy world of sharp and shifting shadows, half-formed shapes as elusive as thought. She was reminded of her foray into the Fade years ago. That place where thought became reality, where she'd become entangled in a demon's allure, and she shivered, forced her attention to something solid and definite. Ornate edges, the frames of eluvians. They spread away from her as though she were in some ancient, enormous cemetery.

“And which one do you propose we try?” Morrigan's arm swept through the chill air, inviting her to choose from one of thousands.

Her heart tried to sink. Growling, Leliana gathered her faith and closed her eyes. She invited calm within her. “Andraste, guide me.”

A flicker danced in her heart.

Sparing not a glance for her dark companion, she followed a path lit bright by faith. Uncounted eluvians slid past, their doorways dark, some cracked, others possessed of beckoning intent. She ignored them all. Save one.

“And here I was beginning to wonder if we were to wander aimlessly until we were old and toothless.” Morrigan's sharp tongue attacked her faith.

Leliana glared at her.

“Well, how do you plan to unseal the doorway and journey to the realm of Sydney's birth?” Morrigan gestured at the dark, unfriendly surface that gave no reflection of the women standing before it, yet held an inner light, a disturbing movement of something alive. It was a far different doorway than the pane of quicksilver that had greeted her in Skyhold.

Begging for patience, Leliana sighed. “I have no plan, Morrigan, only my faith to guide me.”

Instead of an expected, cutting remark, Morrigan only sighed. “I hope 'tis enough.”

As did she. To a knee, she took, bowing her head in humble plea. “Please, Maker, let the door to Sydney's world open that I may ask her for a second chance.” Closing out the shifting light of the Crossroads, she reached for the quiet of her soul. No sooner had she taken a single, long breath, and Morrigan gasped. She felt the magic of the portal before her eyes could focus on it.

It called to her.

“Do you smell that? 'Tis a warm sea air.”

“Sydney lived in a city by the sea. An ocean.” Hope burned hot in her chest. “Oh, Morrigan.”

Fierce golden eyes met her excitement. “Go, Leliana.”

She hesitated.

“I am sure that Keiran's voices will warn us of your return, and I will come to open the portal to Skyhold.” The portal was studied. “She will take you back, you silly bird. Go before your Maker stops wasting energy on an open doorway not used.”

“Thank you, Morrigan,” was offered with a soft glance. Leliana stepped into the swirling light.

Morrigan had barely turned to give Leliana what likely would have been a scathing retort when the crossroads faded. She was aware of a distinct _nothingness_. No light nor sound nor breath of wind touched her face. In fact, she lifted a hand, or thought she did, but she could neither sense her hand nor if it touched her face. All she could feel was her heart. It galloped in her chest, a company of horse hooves thundering away. Her lungs tightened. Well then, she could feel them too, and they were in pain, on fire for lack of air.

Light blinded her.

Scents assaulted her nose as dense, scorching air filled her starved lungs.

She gasped, falling to her knees. Clutching a hand to her chest, she heaved great lungfuls until the dots in her vision gave way. Sand blurred into focus. Beige, nearly white, granules shifted under her knees. A tiny something burrowed under the surface.

Sounds made themselves known. Leliana's neck popped as she whipped it up to take in her surroundings. She was facing the ocean. Caught in a daze, she slowly regained her feet. Giant curlers, greenish blue and topped with white foam, hurled themselves toward her. They crashed, and she squeaked, jumping slightly. Water licked at her toes. Her bare toes that should have been covered in boot leather had a single strap of leather across them. Three other such straps crossed her foot, kept a thin piece of stiffer leather underneath. Sandals had replaced her boots.

The leather was dyed a soft pink. A brass clasp secured the ankle straps. Delicate and fashionable, as she could have worn on a hot day in Rivain. In fact, her entire outfit would not have gone amiss in that warm country. Her legs had a soft, incredibly white material fluttering around them, gauzy and transparent. Silk, in a pastel lavender, caressed her torso and arms. An overlapping affair that left her neck and cleavage exposed was tied about her waist by a silk belt. Between her breasts, sweat already trailed.

Blood and damnation, it was hot. There was nothing over her head to keep off the bright glare of the sun. Her hair was exposed. She felt naked without her chainmail and heavy wool hood.

Children scampered by, kicking a ball and shouting in a language that Leliana had never heard before. She watched adults follow them more leisurely. It took a good deal of effort to not stare at their strange features. Black hair, straight and thick as straw. Skin as golden as Sydney's had been the first time they met. Slim, short bodies. Not all that strange, she admitted. It was their eyes. She'd never seen eyelids that looked stretched and pinched at the corners as though permanently squinting.

The man glanced at her. She gathered herself and began moving. She didn't have a destination, but it felt better to move instead of standing still as a target.

There was a second ocean ahead of her. One made of people instead of water. Hundreds, maybe thousands of souls swarmed the beach. Every color, size, and shape of person imaginable was there. The thin strips of cloth barely covering them came in as many forms, some even in colors that she had never seen before. Behind them, within longbow range, great mountains rose. Despair pecked at her heart. How was she supposed to find Sydney in this sea of people?

Cool water licked her feet again, and she glanced at it, noticed the masses of people among the waves. Past her, a flash of white and grey feathers dove. She watched the bird fly off with something in its beak. A child cried.

“Oh, sweetie, did that big, bad seagull steal your hotdog?” A woman knelt down and consoled the child.

That she could understand the woman's speech bolstered her heart. At least she could begin by asking. “Excuse me.” She approached the stranger. “Do you happen to know a Sydney Nelson?”

Blinking up at her, the woman shook her head. “Yea, sorry, no.”

“I'm sorry to have disturbed you.” Leliana moved forward, stopping only to ask strangers for assistance.

“Nah, but you shud get yo white ass outta the sun 'for you burn any mo'!” A dark young woman with wildly springy hair laughed. Shaking her head, she went back to staring at a tiny, flat, metallic thing in her hands. Her thumbs tapped madly at its surface.

Leliana blinked at the odd language, but it registered that her pale skin was probably turning red under the fierce sun. “My thanks,” was offered, though the woman didn't look up from her strange activity. Shade was sought out, and she collapsed into its welcome embrace. She pressed a hand to her neck. It was already tender from sunburn. “By the Void,” came through gritted teeth.

She leaned back on her arms and watched the ocean and the people playing in it. The sparkling glare made her eyes water. Sighing, she let her eyelids drop and give her some relief.

Not a breath later, some elusive sense jabbed her into alertness, and her gaze darted about, her body going tense, instinct expecting an attack. Around her, the odd people continued. The waves kept rolling. A body, whose torso was covered in a bright yellow material, caught her attention. It was a woman, her breasts perfectly outlined by the clinging yellow. She was shapely, tanned like most of the people around them, had brown hair swept back into a long braid as she bobbed in the waves. Nice, yet unremarkable. Leliana swept her study to others.

A child ran by. A small white dog followed. Her attention fell on the yellow outfit again. The woman was making her way from water to beach, a heavy limp becoming noticeable. She hobbled through the sand to a blanket and a small bag. Heavily, she fell to a knee, then her rump, her back to Leliana. She drank from an odd container and pulled out a patterned towel. With it, she attacked her hair for a while, presumably watching the ocean. Not for long though. A bright cloth was wrapped around her waist, and a wispy over-shirt was slipped on. With help from a stick, a cane, she returned to her feet, bag in hand, towel and blanket stowed away in it.

Her impending exit drew Leliana to her feet. Heart in her throat, she started through the crowd and immediately lost sight of the crippled woman. Feeling a pull, a sharp tug centered in her ribs, she plunged onward. She caught a fleeting image of the woman before a tall man stepped in Leliana's way.

“Hey there, cutie. Where you off to so fast?” Beautiful teeth, soft grin, and seductive eyes attempted to stall her.

“Move,” threatened him with dark violence.

Startled, he nearly leapt to get out of her way. Around screaming children, yipping dogs, arguing, laughing, and reading adults, she wove. When her footsteps stopped sinking in treacherous sand and fell upon solid stone, she paused. Ahead of her, the woman was battling stairs. Leliana was finally close enough to make out the reason for it. One leg had been terribly mangled at some point; chunks of muscle appeared missing. Pale, thick scarring puckered the majority of the leg, standing out in sharp contrast to the sun-golden skin. The other was also scarred, but not nearly as bad, only three long marks in the thigh.

The woman was the right height, shape, and age to be Sydney. Hope and dread prickled at Leliana's eyes. She wanted Sydney, even if the woman's face was as scarred as her leg, but Leliana dreaded to think of the agony, both of body and spirit that such a wound would have caused. The way it forced her to hobble, to lean so heavily on that cane, it would always be painful. She didn't want this woman to be her Sydney.

Leliana blinked. The woman had surmounted the stairs and was moving away. Cursing, Leliana bounded up them and slammed into another body. Huffing, she rebounded, nearly fell right back down the stairs. Landing heavily, the other body, a young man, puffed and cursed. The wheeled board he'd been riding on crashed into a tree.

“Oh, crap! Are you guys okay?”

“Dude, you totally biffed it!”

“Watch where you're fuckin' goin'. Dumbass fuckin' kid.”

“Ouch.”

A dozen voices, some of them reminiscent of Josie's native language, some laughing, some worried, chattered around her, but her entire attention was on the woman who had turned around at the commotion. Despite terrific scars that roped from the left of her chin, across lips and nose and brow and faded under hair, she was unmistakably Sydney. The young man passed between them, angrily muttering under his breath.

Leliana spared him a sigh and willed her legs forward. People got in her way. Several bumped into her. A hand slipped across her rump. If she had a knife...

Something large, noisy, and screeching zipped by. There were hundreds actually. Carriages without horses raced along, no more than a cart length away. They buzzed and screeched, made the earth tremble and belched the most terrific stink.

“Maker's breath! What is this place?” She turned to the person who could give her answers. Yet, Sydney was no longer where she had been. Her hobbling figure was paces away. Fear of losing the woman yet again pushed Leliana to ignore the madness around her and catch her knight. Dozens of people and a few trees slowed her down, obscured her line of sight to Sydney. Three steps before Leliana could have reached out and grabbed her, Sydney closed the door of one of the bright yellow carriages. The contraption moved away and into the flow of noise. Though Leliana leapt after it, another carriage nearly ran her over. Only honed reflexes and a helpful hand from a stranger kept her from injury.

“Jesus Christ, woman! What the hell are you thinking jumping out there? Trying to get yourself killed?” The stranger demanded.

“My thanks,” she managed before dashing off, following the carriage with her eyes. But no more than a minute later, she lost it among the general chaos. Sydney was gone.

 

“It was the faire, Sydney. Made you see fantasy in the real world.” Safe in her apartment, she let her head thunk on the front door.

Struggling to get her heartbeat to stop racing like a crazed beast took most of Sydney's willpower. That woman, her eyes and the way she carried herself, she was the Leliana from Sydney's dreams and nightmares. A woman who did not, could not, exist here. But Sydney shouldn't be able to fence like an old pro either. Or feel comfortable in a room full of war veterans.

She'd freaked out over dozens of redheads, but now she wished that she had stayed one more minute. What if?

Her phone rang, and she picked up before her mother could worry over her. If anyone asked her later, she wouldn't be able to say what they talked about.

 

Already frustrated and upset over losing Sydney so quickly and not being able to navigate this strange place, Leliana's violent reaction to another gruff man trying to stop her from crossing the street was unavoidable. She apologized for hurting him, but he called for reinforcement from a black thing on his shoulder.

Running didn't help. People in matching uniforms surrounded Leliana, told her to calm down and other such platitudes. One of them finally aimed a little box at her, said something about 'tazing,' whatever that could possibly mean. He frowned, and a breath later, two sharp hooks dug into Leliana's skin, bringing with them pain as only a lightning bolt from a mage could do. Screaming and twitching, she collapsed to the ground.

 

Sydney took a bottle of wine and glass to the best part of her modest apartment. The soaking tub. She sank into it and tried her best to relax, to dismiss the haunting blue eyes. But three glasses later, the eyes began talking to her.

_Come back to me._

 

Pacing the cramped cell, Leliana battled the memories of the last time that she had been trapped behind bars. Quickly frustrated with her eight square paces of space, she slid into battle exercises to give her mind anything other than those dark days to think about, glad that the place was well lit, that it didn't stink of mold and shit and death, didn't echo with screams and laughter and dogs barking, that she wasn't chained to the wall, that guards didn't spend their free time with her.

And the cell wasn't atrociously hot. There was an artificial coolness to the place. A bit too warm for Leliana's Skyhold-accustomed body, but much better than the furnace outside. The worst part were the two painful, ugly marks on her chest where the hooks had caught. Her lovely top was torn.

In the cell across from her, a heavily tattooed man watched. “Damn, _mami._ You ain't stopped movin' in like, three hours.”

He had the posture of a man used to these places.

“When we out, you and me gotta hook up. I'll score some viagra, and we go _all_ night.”

Half of his words were lost in his nasal accent. The other half made no sense. But his eyes told her what she needed to know. “I am taken.”

“Hoo, _mami_. You French? I've always wanted to see the City of Love.”

She slid up from her low practice stance. “Yes. I am new to this city. I came here looking for someone.”

There it was, that familiar shift of features in someone who might be able to help, for a price. “Miami is a big place. You try Google?”

What in the Maker's name was Google?

Authoritative footsteps sounded near, and the man's mouth closed, his eyes looking for the guard. She came around the corner. Not bothering to look at the other prisoner, she addressed Leliana. “Ms. Vasseur. You've got a visitor.”

The police that had attacked and imprisoned her had insisted that Leliana give them a last name. She prayed that Lady Cecilie would not be offended at the appropriation. From the tiny bit of information she remembered from Sydney, she'd said she was French. She had lost her papers when she was mugged this morning. She did not have family to contact. Her reason for being in America, what they'd called this country, she'd said she was looking for a friend. She was looking for Sydney Nelson.

Her walk with the guard put her in a small room with a mirror that spanned an entire wall. Gawking at the cost of it, that this prison could afford such a ridiculous waste of money, she almost didn't notice the man waiting for her. When she settled her gaze on him, he smiled. He exuded aristocracy.

“My name is James Grosvenor, and you are Leliana Vasseur?” His accent and tone was similar to a Fereldan high noble's, but he was as dark as Vivienne. How interesting.

Again, she cast a small prayer that Lady Cecilie would forgive Leliana's impetuous assumption of her family name. “I am.”

“A lovely, old French name.  _ D'où êtes-vous? _ ” His easy slip into Orlesian, wait no,  _ French _ , nearly threw her, but she responded after a covering giggle.

“France. Of course.” Thank the Maker that the people who had arrested her had liked to talk and gone on for long minutes talking about the language of romance and the beautiful country of France.

Quietly, he studied her.  “I've heard that you're looking for a woman named Sydney Nelson.”

Immediately, she wanted to lie, but she had no resources and fewer ideas to get out of that cage. “She is a friend who I miss dearly.”

He smiled. “I may be able to help you.”

With that, she knew that he was similar to Leliana. A person of secrets; one who knew how to get and sell them. He also struck her as a man who could get anywhere with a few well-directed words and a few well-directed coins. His help would probably be more reliable than the man in the cell. She could always figure out the coin later. “How is it that you think you may help me, ser?”

“Where are you really from?” Back into Fereldan or Sydney's equivalent. Her silence made him go on. “Your accent is  odd and your word choice archaic. No ID, thin story of your arrival here, and interesting scars strike me as a woman who is from somewhere I cannot easily travel to.”

For the first time in years, Leliana had no idea how to respond, to lie or tell the truth or something in between. She had little knowledge of Sydney's world or its workings, and she couldn't begin to guess how this strange man might react.

“I see. Now, let us add on that you are looking for a woman whom I have a particular interest in. Ms. Sydney Nelson.” James' casual smile had sharpened into keen interest. “Formerly a bartender and occasional ballroom dancer aboard cruise ships. She disappeared without a trace and returned just as mysteriously, four years later, on the edge of death.”

Four years?! She had barely known Sydney a single year! Unless Sydney had lied about when she had arrived in Thedas, the man was lying or mistaken.

“You are not from our world, are you?”

Or perhaps he knew a lot more than Leliana could guess. Her mind whirled. Perhaps time moved differently here, or the passage between worlds could have stolen the years. “Why are you interested in Sydney?”

“My family has been following odd stories for generations. For reasons both philanthropic and selfish, we enjoy helping travelers such as you and Ms. Nelson.”

This was the kind of situation she knew how to handle. Help him get what he wanted in order to get what she wanted. A classic maneuver of mutual interest. “What do you want in return for helping me find her?”

Childish enthusiasm blurred forth. “Your story!”

She couldn't help it, she laughed.

 

 


	20. Wide-eyed Flinch

 “ _Not all the mirrors lead back to our world. The ancients were nothing if not... resourceful.”_

_-Morrigan, Arcane Adviser to Empress Celene_

* * *

 

 

“Good afternoon.” A middle-aged black guy smiled at her from behind a groomed beard. His posture and urban chic clothing said expensive education, fashionable businessman. “I am James Grosvenor.” He sounded like he might have grown up in Boston, definitely upper New England somewhere. “Would you happen to be Ms. Sydney Nelson?”

Standing in the doorway of her apartment, she gave him her best “I can kill you with my cane” face. “How did you get in?” Some idiot neighbor had probably held the locked building door open for him.

“The door was open.” James smiled at her. “I don't suppose that you know a rather impressive woman named Leliana? She has the loveliest red hair.”

She knew then that he was definitely fucking with her. Somehow he'd found out what little she'd told her shrink, and he was there to... whatever. It didn't matter. “You need to leave.”

“And an up-and-down scar on her left cheek.”

A scar? On her left cheek? Had the redhead from the other day had a scar too? She should've stayed instead of jumping in that cab. Her lungs clenched, and her heart trembled.

He noticed her discomfort, pressed forward. “She said that she's looking for a woman who once carried a sword of fire.”

Her world was imploding.

“She has been asking for you by name.”

Who was he and how did know details that she'd only told her mom and Josiah? “What do you want?”

Instead of looking threatened, he looked even more pleased. “To reunite the two of you, of course!”

Bullshit. Complete bullshit. She snarled at him. "I don't know what it is you think you're doing, but even if it was possible for Leliana to have come here, she wouldn't. She'd never leave her duties to chase after _me._ "

James gaped, started to argue again, “Ms. Nelson, I quite assure you-”

“This conversation is done, Mr. Governor.” She bit at him. “Now, please, go away.”

“Wait a moment!” He looked positively devastated. What sounded like someone running came from down the hall. Just what she needed. An audience. It was bad enough that the detectives from the hospital had visited her about once a month since moving in. She'd gotten a few calls while she was out that morning, saying they'd stopped by, yet again, that they wanted to talk to her.

“Go away!” She tried to slam the door.

A hand, pale, definitely not James' stopped it. “Sydney,” soft, foreign, desperate, female. The door was pushed back open, revealing a woman wearing a flowing summer dress. Her neck and face looked burned, possibly by her fiery orange hair. Eyes caught her own. Intense blue, the kind seen right before sunrise erupted in an explosion of color, sapphires of such quality that she couldn't look away from pinned her with their gaze.

 

Before her, dressed in loose fitting, and shapeless, ugly clothing, was Sydney. Her beautiful, courageous, troublesome knight. Leliana's feet rushed forward, but stopped at Sydney's wide-eyed flinch. Fear was clear in her shining eyes, rapid breaths, trembling hands.

“Oh, Sydney.”

A long swallow, flexed jaw. “I don't know who you are, or what you want, but you're not gonna pawn this Anastasia off on me.” Her tone was dangerous, hurt and afraid. “Get the fuck out, now.”

James began to say something, but Leliana waved him to silence. She didn't understand the Anastasia reference, but perfectly understood the message. Sydney thought her an impostor. "No. Sydney is not in the wrong with her doubt.”  
Body vibrating, trembling with the intensity of her emotions, Sydney snapped back. “The Leliana I knew would never abandon her duties as spymaster to find me. She would have sent an agent in her stead.”

Sydney's sharp words struck as hard as any physical blow. Leliana struggled for her breath. “I,” she started to voice the excuses and rationales that flew to mind. No. No more. It was time for truths, for her heart to speak. Her fingers tangled on themselves. “Before I lost you, I had the luxury of being a stubborn fool.” Sydney's trembling ceased, her body going deathly stiff. “No matter how hard I pushed you away, you always came back, slipped past my defenses, warmed me with your affections,” a wry snort. “Or with hot ire. You were rather talented at doing that as well. No one else could get under my skin quite like you.” She glanced away for courage, looked back up through her eyelashes. Sydney's beautiful brown and green eyes were wide and afraid. “ _Mon amour_ , when we thought you dead...”

She needed air, sucked in a great lungful. “You are right. The Leliana you knew wouldn't have abandoned the Inquisition for something as foolish as love.” She prayed for another minute of strength. “But you were not there to see the spymaster crumble at the news of your sacrifice. You were not witness to the nights I spent praying for your return. You don't know how many candles were wasted missing your smile instead of reading reports.”

There was a gasp, and Sydney went stumbling backward, hit a wall. Leliana's feet followed. “I didn't know what I wanted, what I _needed_ , until I couldn't have it anymore.”

Sydney shook her head, whispered, “Leliana never needed me.”

“I started needing you the moment I began to change for you.”

“When was that?” Fear to hope asked in whisper.

They were only inches apart, but Leliana was afraid to touch Sydney, terrified she would run away and vanish again. “The day I let you blackmail me.”

“Who are you?” pain demanded. Leliana's hand moved up, stalled, curled, stretched, but remained too afraid to close the gap. Sydney's stare shot to the wavering hand. “Why are you doing this?”

“Ask me a secret that only your Leliana would know. Ask me about something that wouldn't be in that game you spoke of.”

Maybe a little courage lit in her eyes. “What did we drink after I beat Trevelyan in the ring?”

It was so long ago, but she had kept the bottle. She'd hidden it in her wardrobe where neither Josie nor a servant would see it. “It was a sweet white from Antiva. I could tell you the varietel and vineyard, but I doubt you even looked at the label.”  
Sydney's breath hitched, yet she demanded more. “When and why did I leave her chambers?”

Though she felt the attention of their audience and hated to share the intimately painful moment with him, she answered. “It was the middle of the night. You had woken up in pain.”

There was a clear, if silent, “And?”

Refusing to give in to her fear again, she stared right into Sydney's eyes. “I withdrew from you. I hid behind the Nightingale because I was terrified of you. My coldness hurt you more than the pain in your ribs.”

Was Sydney about to faint? Her breath was ragged, pupils enormous. “What was the last thing you said to me. The very last?”

As though holding the dancing flames again, she cupped her hands. All over again, her heart felt the moment she'd touched them, felt something powerful and beautiful and distinctly _Sydney._ “Come back to me.” She caught herself. “But you were not there to hear that. What I said in the carriage on the way back f-” Her breath was knocked out of her by a body colliding with her own.

Leliana staggered under Sydney's weight, almost didn't reset her balance in time to keep them from falling. “I heard you,” breathed in her ear. “I've heard you calling to me since I woke up.” The arms desperately clutching at her trembled.

“Sydney, my knight.” She tried to return the embrace.

Abruptly, Sydney pushed back, taking her own feet again. “How did you get here?”  
“Morrigan took me to the crossroads, and the Maker guided me through an eluvian.”

Sydney blinked and cursed. “One more thing. I have to ask.”

Her hands still on Sydney's hips, she nodded. “Of course.”

“Will you fight me?”

Fight her? “What?”

Slipping out of Leliana's hands, she cast their benefactor a glance. “Come in all the way. Shut the door.” And she limped toward what looked a work area, maybe a kitchen. She pulled two long spoons from a ceramic container that held cooking tools like flowers in a vase. One was tossed to Leliana. It was barely in her hand before Sydney attacked.

Three moves, and Sydney had a spoon at her throat. Leliana lowered it.

“Again,” was demanded.

This time, Leliana disarmed her, kicked her feet out from under her, and pinned her to the floor. “What is the point of this?”

“Third time's a charm,” Sydney rolled away, got to her feet fairly gracefully despite her withered leg. But now she had pulled a sword off the wall.

Leliana looked at the green spoon in her hand. James had pressed himself into a corner, his boyish glee barely tempered by respect for a fight. “You would give me such a handicap?”

“A handicap for Leliana would be having both of her hands tied behind her back.” Sydney quipped. “The core of that spoon is steel.”

She squeezed the soft green shell, felt a more solid center. If this was what it took for Sydney to believe that she had come for her, then she would fight. Her ready stance was all the invitation that Sydney needed. Leliana didn't immediately aim to win and allowed herself to see Sydney's blade-work. It had suffered since her disappearance, and not all of it could be blamed on her leg. She was slower, weaker, more hesitant.

Had she truly slept for months as James had said? Leliana ducked and rolled, smacked Sydney's bad leg. It wobbled. As she came up, she noticed a nasty bruise on Sydney's sword hand.

Panting, Sydney overreached, and Leliana smacked the bruise. A cry, and the sword fell. She put her foot on it. Sydney's gaze dropped to it, swept Leliana. She went back to the kitchen, opened a cabinet that spewed mist, grabbed something blue, and returned with it on her hand. At the couch, she collapsed. Pain darkened eyes stared up at Leliana. Tears dropped from them as she coughed up a laugh. “I yield,” a huff, a long trail of her gaze, “Leliana.”

Strange noise right by her hip made Leliana jump. A small box was lighting up, _things_ moving on it. Sydney reached for it and casually moved a finger across it. “Hey, mom.”

She'd seen this before. It was an incredible arcane device for communicating with distant people. With Sydney's eyes on her, she dropped the spoon on the table, gathered up the sword, sheathing it and replacing it to the wall pegs. Hesitantly, she settled beside Sydney on the couch. James peeled away from the corner and sat in the only armchair.

“No. It's not really a great time to come over.” Sydney was rubbing her temple. “ _Maman, non_ .  _Mes amis sont..._ ” Her head shot up, and her voice pitched. “What do you mean you're already here?”

There was a knock at the door. Angrily, Sydney thumbed at the device and yelled, “It's open, mom.”

“Sydney, I bro-” A woman who could have been Sydney in twenty winters stepped into the room. From her hand dangled a bag. She had started to sweep the room with a pleasant smile, but frowned at Sydney. “Why are you flushed?  _Ma petite_ , did you push yourself too hard again?”

Head falling to the back of the furniture, Sydney groaned. “Is the door down there even locked anymore?”

Almost too confusing to follow, Sydney and her mother fell into a quibble about whether Sydney was pushing her body too hard. They slipped in and out of Fereldan and Orlesian, French. It was truly fascinating listening to the easy shift that neither seemed much aware of. It was much like speaking to Josie after she'd gotten a frustrating letter from her siblings. Her native Antivan would rise as she vented about them, snaking in and out of the Orlesian that she and Leliana generally used.

Hearing the almost-Orlesian language was an intrigue all by itself. It was incredibly similar, yet enormously different. Almost like the difference between noble discourse and the drawl of commoners. And then there was the amusement of seeing Sydney rage under an authority she found oppressive, yet being unusually, adorably, submissive.

“What are you smiling about?” Sydney barked at her. “This is your fault, you know.”

Her fault? “Mine? How is it my fault that your mother is worried about you?”

“You are French?” Sydney's mother asked.

“No.” Both of them replied. One courteous, the other snappy. They looked at each other. Leliana felt a half grin curl, and Sydney slowly smiled back.

As her mother started to narrow her eyes, Lord Grosvenor strode up to her, exuding charm and eagerness. “Hello, Mrs. Nelson. May I introduce myself? I'm James Grosvenor.”

 

 


	21. Delicate Meeting

 “ _Always remember that faith sprung from a barren branch. That light has no fear of darkness. Above all, that strength lives in an open heart.”_

_-Divine Justinia V in a letter to Sister Leliana_

* * *

 

 

While Leliana sat quietly, the Nelson ladies were staring heatedly at James as he finished his announcement. Sydney squawked, “ _You_? You've been paying my medical bills and rent? You're my benefactor?”

“I have, and I am, Ms. Nelson.” Proudly, he beamed back.

Sydney slid a look to Leliana, who understood the question not asked and answered it. “I believe that he tells the truth.”

“Shit.” Sydney stood and held out her hand. “I need to properly thank you.”

He did her the courtesy of grasping her hand before waving her down. “Please, Ms. Nelson. Sit.”

“Call me Sydney,” as she wobbled. Leliana put hands to hips and helped ease the return to sitting. Retracting her arms, she was surprised to feel Sydney follow them. Their bodies weren't close enough for it to be a casual lean, and Leliana had to shift closer before the motion lost Sydney's dignity, leaving one arm about Sydney's middle. Hesitantly, Leliana rested her hand on a hip. Sydney stiffened. She looked at Leliana, seeming surprised by their closeness.

Leliana cocked an eyebrow. Yes? She thought at Sydney, you put us in this position. And yes, she was encouraging the closeness. A long moment passed as Sydney stared at her, emotions warring in her gaze. Sydney swallowed, and a sheepish grin appeared as she slowly relaxed into Leliana's partial embrace. Joy flared in her heart.

“ _Mon chou_ ,” Mrs. Nelson gasped. _“Elle est la dame de ton histoire!”_

Sydney had told stories of her? Again, Sydney stiffened, but she took one long breath and eased more into Leliana. “ _Oui, maman_.”

“ _Mais,_ ” puffed out. Leliana received an intense perusal. “ _Mais, comment?_ How, Sydney? This, it's, I... _C'est_ _impossible_!”

“Do you not believe that Sydney came to my world?” Leliana asked.

Attention riveted on her. “I could barely believe that my Sydney fell in love, let alone...” A helpless gesture.

Leliana nearly choked. Not only had Sydney told stories, but had said she'd fallen in love?

Sydney started to open her mouth, but a distasteful chime came from the wall, and she cursed. “ _Maman_?”

The elder rose and went to the door. No. The wall. She pushed at a small button there. “Hello?”

“Ms. Nelson? It's Detective Olson.” A strange voice replied. The magic of this world was splendid! She couldn't wait to ask Sydney questions about it. Lord Grosvenor had answered many after he had secured her freedom from jail and provided her with a comfortable room at an inn, but she had so many more.

“Son of a whore,” growled Sydney.

Casting her daughter a concerned look, then her visitors, “Sydney?”

“Ms. Nelson, we'd like to come up and talk to you.”

Sydney turned to Leliana, her expression fierce. “You don't know where I was. We met ages ago on a trip I took with mom to see family in France. Be vague. Deflect. These detectives think I was part of something illegal. They don't like that I had amnesia when I first woke up, and I'm their favorite mystery.” She paused. “Shit. You don't even know half of what's happened since the Fade.”

“Lord Grosven-”

“Don't use lord.” Sydney interrupted. She shot a glance to him, and he smiled reassuringly. “Mister. Or just call him James. Detectives are,” she paused, “A bit like seekers, but for the city guard, or what we call police.”

Frowning, hating her lack of understanding about this land, she... lack of understanding. That would work. “Do these people speak French?”  
“No.”

She deepened her accent to a drawl one might find in the countryside of Orlais and batted her lashes as she had at the jail. “My Fer-English is very bad.” English, not Ferelden. How long had it taken Sydney to get used to the cultures in Thedas? Maker, how many conversations could she have had with Sydney if she hadn't been so stubborn and blind?

Soft chuckles came from Sydney. “ _Seras toujours le maître des secrets._ ”

Despite what her friend and mentor had wanted, Leliana could never completely lay aside the habits of the Left Hand. “ _Bien sûr_.” Yet, she would, had been, refraining from the brutal ruthlessness that had colored her career thus far. For Justinia. For Sydney. Leliana wanted to remember the gentleness she'd once shared with mere strangers. She wanted to be kind and warm again. “But I would be more for you.”

“You _have_ changed.” Sydney breathed.

Lady Nelson was watching with an excited expression. “Syd-”

“Ms. Nelson?” The voice called.

Sydney took a deep breath. “Let them up, mom.”

Though clearly not liking the situation, Lady Nelson nodded. “Come on up, detectives.”

“Sydney,” Leliana murmured. “Do you wish them to know we are close?”

“No,” was grumbled, though a moment of delight flashed at Leliana's words. Sydney straightened, and Leliana withdrew her arm.

“It's possible these detectives are here because of my visit.” Lord Grosvenor spoke. “And Ms. Vasseur's arrival.”

“Probably both.” Sydney agreed, rubbing her face.

Stern raps sounded on the door. As Leliana schooled her expression to pleasant, Sydney's did as well. Lady Nelson opened the door and greeted a man and woman in similar clothing. Starched trousers and form-tailored shirts that buttoned up the front. On their belts were shiny objects that looked like tiny shields and metal objects that Leliana assumed were weapons by the way she'd seen guards touching them.

“Oh. Mrs. Nelson,” greeted the man. “Haven't seen you in a while. How's the restaurant?”

“Busy as ever, thank you.” She must have a good deal of practice talking to people she disliked but needed to make happy. Is she where Sydney learned that skill from? “Can I get you something to drink? I'm sure Syd has something in the fridge.”

“A glass of ice water would be great.”

Ice water? In this weather? Oh yes. The ice cupboards that stayed frigid in even the hottest room. Josephine would squeal at the idea. Having ice brought up from the southern wastes was immensely expensive, and the ice had to be kept in the deepest cellars. The best wards couldn't keep the giant blocks from melting within a month's time.

She met the gaze that suddenly landed on her. It was much like Cassandra's, piercing, searching, antagonizing. Leliana gave a lovely smile.

The man smiled back. “Hello.” He was striding forward, open palm held out. “I'm Detective Olson.” At his side, the woman offered her hand next. “And this is my partner, Detective Murray.”

“ _Bonjour_. I am Leliana Vasseur.”

“Ms. Vasseur. You're French?”  
“ _Oui_. I come from France to visit my friend.”

Detective Olson nodded. “Who you didn't know how to find but seem to have found.”

Leliana frowned. “Ehm. _Pardon?_ ” Questioningly, she looked to Sydney, who whispered a translation before replying for her.

“Ana and I'd lost touch. When she couldn't get hold of me on social media, she decided to come find me in person.”

“How did...”

Lady Nelson returning with glasses of water interrupted the question. Leliana received one as well, and she sipped at the chilly beverage.

Lord Grosvenor had stood and presented himself, taking attention from her. “Hello, detectives. James Grosvenor. Ms. Nelson was telling us how persistent you have been in trying to discover what happened to her while she was missing. It's fantastic that you've kept at it after all this time.”  
“Mr. Grosvenor.” Detective Olson raked his gaze over the lord. “I hear you were down at the station the other day, pulling this lovely French woman from a cell.”

“I was indeed.” His honest retort threw the detective, and he nearly swayed on his feet.

“Ms. Nelson, what is your relationship to Mr. Grosvenor?” Detective Olson asked.

Sydney chuckled. “Apparently, he's my benefactor.”

The detectives' interest sharpened.

“I had decided to introduce myself when I heard about Ms. Vasseur's difficulties.”

“And how did you hear about that?” The man pressed, his partner silent and watching beside him.

“Why, a friend in the force has been keeping tabs on Ms. Nelson for me. When they heard that Ms. Vasseur was looking for her, I was informed. We found her passport and cleared up that unfortunate misunderstanding that led to her being tasered. Two old friends were reunited!” Lord Grosvenor laughed heartily. “Isn't it a fantastic happy ending?”

The entire time, Sydney had been translating, keeping up the act of Leliana's poor communication skill. It was a terrible job, paraphrasing, leaving out words. She'd have been removed immediately from service had she been a translator for a noble in Fereldan, yet neither detective noticed. Good.

“Speaking of happy endings,” Sydney put in, “What brings you here today? Did you catch a lead on my disappearance?”  
Facing her, Detective Olson's expression shifted to challenging. “You've been taking fencing lessons. Your instructor says you're very good.”

Sydney stiffened. “I needed something to take up my time. Dancing was out of the question.”

“If you can fence, what's keeping you from dancing?”

“When you fence, you wear a hood that covers your face,” was the harsh response.

The idea of Sydney hiding her face in shame made Leliana's heart thud painfully. In Skyhold, all would know that her scars were that of a hero, to be respected and admired. They were testaments to Sydney's beautiful soul. Ballads and songs that had already been written about Andraste's Knight would be changed to include the results of the battle with Nightmare once the minstrels and bards learned of those scars. Music from her own song built in her chest.

Oh. She'd have to write another! Had Josie read the one she'd left in her care yet? Would she give it to Skyhold's minstrel to play and spread? Of course she would. Josie was sentimental like that. And practical. The ballad would garner much sympathy for the Inquisition if spread properly.

“Then you haven't found any leads. You just came by to check on Sydney's friend.” Lady Nelson's voice was dangerously pleasant.

Leliana's estimation of her jumped even higher.

Detective Olson was unfazed. “We were concerned about their involvement with your daughter.”

“ _Mais oui_.” Had she been born in Orlais, Lady Nelson would have been a great contender in the Game. “I need to be getting back to the restaurant. Should I walk you two out?”

“I have an appointment as well.” Lord Grosvenor smiled. “I'll join you.”

A stalemate threatened, but the lead detective nodded. “Glad to see you're in good health, Ms. Nelson. Ms. Vasseur.” Both made acknowledging dips of their head before exiting.

“There's enough dinner in the bag to share with your friend, _mon chou._ ” Lady Nelson smiled at her daughter, then looked at Leliana, her brown eyes worried. “ _Un plaisir, Leliana. À bientôt!_ ”

“ _À la prochaine, ma Dame Nelson._ ” She realized that she'd just been introduced to Sydney's mother. Her _mother_. And it had been a terrible introduction, barely one at all, and the impression she'd made had been lackluster at best. If there was anyone in Thedas, or this America, who Leliana truly wanted to impress, aside from Sydney, was Lady Nelson. Nug shit!

“Ms. Vasseur, will you be alright finding your way back to your hotel?” Lord Grosvenor paused in the doorway.

She nodded. “Your generosity with funds has my purse full, and I remember the address and how to,” she gathered the proper wording, “Hail a cab.”

Lord Grosvenor smiled winningly. “Perhaps we can do lunch tomorrow?”

“Sure. One o'clock be back here,” came Sydney's easy reply.

The door slid shut.

Abruptly alone with Sydney, Leliana found her mouth dry, her tongue a lead brick. She swallowed.

“Breaking you of calling people lord or lady will take time, won't it?” Sydney muttered, her gaze on the door.

“She is your mother, how could I call her anything less?” She argued.

Face hard, Sydney looked at her. “Some countries still have royalty, but this one, the one I'm from, doesn't. And the Nelson family sure as hell isn't descended from any.”

Quietly, Leliana repeated, “She is _your_ mother, Lady Knight.”

“I'm not a knight here. I'm just a crippled woman.” Harsh, unkind, Sydney's tone hated her scars.

Leliana touched her hand. “Sydney, you are a woman of immense courage and strength, someone to be admired and loved no matter what world you are in. It is for that I call you a knight.”

“Are you hungry?” Sydney changed the subject.

Her stomach shifted. The food at the jail had not been kind to her, nor had what Lord Grosvenor introduced her to, and the discomfort lingered. She was not keen to test this world's food again. “Perhaps some tea?”

Cane in hand, Sydney got to her feet and went to what must be the kitchen. From a cupboard, she drew a mug, filled it with water and put it in an odd cupboard. She pushed at its surface until a light hum awoke from it. Numbers appeared, and they counted down from 90. It made a chime.

The mug came out, a little white packet was dropped in it, and another cupboard was rifled in until a small, honey-colored object with a cone tip was pulled down. Sydney returned with the mug. What had she done with th-

Oh. It appeared from a pocket, along with a spoon. The cone tip had a cover that Sydney pulled off. “It's honey. You can squeeze the container to get out as much as you want.”

Amazing. The packet appeared to be an incredibly thin fabric bag full of crushed tea leaves. The amber liquid's aroma of currants and vanilla was nice. It tasted a bit stale though. The fabric?

“Sorry. I can get some fresh loose-leaf for later.”

She peered up over the mug to where Sydney had retreated to lean against the kitchen worktable. Why the distance?

“You frowned. I'm assuming it's at the bad tea. I was never big on tea, always preferred coffee. Tea is something Joze keeps around.”

Joze kept tea in Sydney's home? Did this person live here? Her eye found a framed portrait of Sydney with a handsome man, and they looked immensely intimate. “Who is Joze?”

“My best friend. He's the only person that actually has a key to my place, and he's also the only one that warns me before he shows up.” She made an irritated noise. “Usually.”

He had a key to her home? Leliana truly didn't know much about Sydney, did she? No. That wasn't true. She knew Sydney's behaviors, strengths and weaknesses, how she thought, how she fought. She knew that Sydney loved blackberries and hated spiced rum. Well, she'd learned the latter from her spies. “I truly know very little about you, Sydney.”

“And I probably don't know half as much about you as I think I do,” came the brittle reply.

But... “That does not diminish how deeply in love with you I am,” was a bit rushed, and she felt winded after. Her cheeks grew hot.

Shock was staring at her.

“I would never have risked this journey if I wasn't.” She placed the tea aside and rose with the ragged edges of her courage. “I want to take you back to Skyhold with me, but I don't even know if that's possible. All I know is that, if you'll have me, I want to be with you, even if it keeps me in this world for the rest of my life.” Sydney's jaw was moving soundlessly, and Leliana bit her lip. Could she get Sydney to laugh? “Though it would be nice to truly get to know you before I try to drag you to bed again.”

There was no laughter. Instead, Sydney coughed. “I need to sit down.” She took a step toward the abandoned couch. “No. I need a drink more.” Back into the kitchen she went, opening a cupboard and withdrawing a bottle and two glasses. “Want one? It's a good single malt. Or I have pretty much anything else under the sun here too. Joze keeps me stocked. I think mom does too the way she helps me drink it sometimes.”

Within the shadows, a great many bottles of various sizes and colors gleamed. Sydney's reaction in the face of Leliana's admission of love stung. A stiff drink would be nice. She could deal with the repercussions of her sensitive stomach later. “A glass of what you're drinking.”

Deep amber liquid splashed into one glass, then the next. Sydney held up the second in an open invitation, and Leliana crossed the open space to retrieve it, but when her fingers touched the glass, Sydney didn't let go. Not right away. A fierce intensity stared at Leliana for several breaths before Sydney released her hold and grabbed up her own drink. “A toast. I believe it's my turn.”

On edge, Leliana waited.

“To impossible journeys.” Lips parted, she paused. “And the women who make them.”

Glasses _clinked_ , and velvet fire was tossed back. Oaken flavor hit her tongue as the heat trailed down her throat. She hadn't had a whiskey that good in _years_ , and it hit her stomach like a punch, almost made her gasp. Sydney was already pouring more, offering the refilled glass that Leliana sipped instead of gulped. It was incredible. And this Joze provided such luxuries for her? Was her heart not free to love Leliana any longer?

Staring into her liquor, “I probably drink too much.” Sharply, she thrust the glass down. The free hand darted toward Leliana's face just as suddenly, stalled before making contact, trembled. “Fuck. Are you real?”

“Your mother spoke to me, no? She is witness to my existence here.”

Fingers pressed to her cheek, trailed across it. “I'm not dreaming. The woman of my dreams, my _nightmares,_ is in my kitchen.” Nightmares? Leliana's heart attacked her rib cage. “And she says she's in love with me.”

Both afraid to press into the touch and yearning for it, Leliana shivered. “Am I too late?”

The touch remained, but Sydney was silent.

“It has only been a few months for me since you vanished, but for you, Sydney, you slept for half a year and been awake another half. Time...” she closed her eyes on the arrival of tears. “And all the months in Thedas I spent pushing you away,” trailed off. “Has this Joze filled the spot I could not?”

Now, Sydney laughed. “Joze?” Loud, amused guffaws. The hand retreated to run through sun-kissed locks as Sydney's form shook with mirth. “Josiah is way too male for me no matter his fantasies.”

Oh. She often forgot that others did not enjoy both genders as she did. Her own tangled fingers held onto each other. Then... was there hope?

“God, Leli. You're actually here, in front of me, and giving me what I pushed for. You're adorably nervous. And,” a shuddering breath was sucked in. “And you haven't flinched at my scars.”

“Of course not! They are part of you.” She leaned toward Sydney. “And you are exquisite.”

Fear and hope shone at her. A low, desperate whisper hissed from Sydney. “Will you kiss me?”

Sunlight burst in her chest, and she nearly drooped to the floor in relief, yet she managed to gather Sydney's jaw in her hands and bring their lips together. The first brush was a delicate meeting. The second, a curious exploration. Hard scar and soft lip was a combination that Leliana had felt before, but memories of kissing other people were nothing like kissing Sydney. Nothing at all. She felt as though magic was racing through her body, making her tremble and shiver.

Loud clattering made her jump and gasp. Strong hands on her waist kept her steady as she discovered Sydney's cane on the floor. Breath seared across her neck, and she returned her attention to a flushed, panting woman. Leliana kissed her again.

It wasn't until her lungs screamed that she released Sydney's lips. As she gasped and struggled for air, she realized that their bodies had molded to each other. Thighs and bellies and breasts pressed tightly. This moment was perfect. Smiling giddily, she sent silent thanks to Andraste and the Maker for reuniting her with her knight.

“Maker's breath, Sydney, I missed you.”

Leliana was squeezed tighter. “I believe you.” Were those tears she felt on her cheek? Who did they belong to? “Dammit, Leliana, I didn't think I'd ever see you again, let alone have you kiss me.” Almost painfully, the embrace tightened further, fingers digging into her back. A choked sob wracked Sydney.

What could she say except, “I'm here.” At Sydney's side, where she belonged. “Sydney, my love, I'm here.” She stroked Sydney's hair and back until the shaking eased, and her breath relaxed. It was then she noticed that her own hands were shaking.

“I really didn't imagine it.” Sydney whispered. “I mean, I could fucking use a _sword_ and I'm covered in scars, but...” A choked snort. “I was having nightmares about a video game where I used _magic._ ”

That this world didn't believe it had magic was madness.

“Surely not all of your time in Thedas was a nightmare. Your friends took great pride in sharing with me songs you'd taught them to sing.”

Sydney pulled back to look at her. Amusement danced in her eyes. “You let them drag you to the tavern and sing to you?”

“Even Cassandra serenaded me.”

Her amusement was tempered by grief. “And they think I'm dead.”

“Not all, but if we return, even Morrigan may hug you.” Leliana hummed.

Hard, a bark of laughter came from her. “Morrigan? Hugging?”

Lips pulling up in a conspiratorial grin, “I hugged her.”

“You did not.”

“I did, and she returned the embrace. The witch has become sentimental. She even drew myself and Alistair into regular dinners with herself and Keiran.”

Sydney grew somber again. “How is he?”

“He grows quickly. He misses you.” A little chuckle bubbled up. “He had decided that he needed to start learning to defend himself without magic and asked me to train him as I did you. The boy is a much better student than Andraste's Knight was.”

Pressure trailed up her spine, over her shoulder, finished on her jaw. Sydney's fingers traced her sharp cheekbone. “He couldn't make you eat regularly.”

“Keiran was much better at getting me to smile.” Fire from the kiss dissipating, the alcohol in her belly reminded her of its lonely presence. She blinked at the wash of tiredness. Her stomach growled.

Sydney blinked down, and giggles appeared. “I suppose the role of mother hen falls back on me.”

Much to Leliana's displeasure, Sydney removed herself from their embrace to rummage in her cupboards. “Sydney,” groaned out.

She retrieved her cane. “It's almost time for dinner anyway. Hush and help me.”

 

 


	22. Toothpaste Mouth

 “ _I'm here to set things right. Also? To look dashing. That part's less difficult.”_

_-Altus Dorian Pavus_

* * *

 

 

Simple meal of chicken and vegetables that one might find in Skyhold later, Sydney smiled at Leliana's delicate, proper movements from over her own empty plate. Elegant, dainty Leliana. Such a princess. How was it possible that this woman was as comfortable in battle armor and blood as she was in frilly dresses and coquettish smiles? The last chunk of carrot vanished behind lips peeling from sun exposure. Who had let the snowbound spymaster into the Miami oven without protection?

“I am not sure I appreciate this intense stare, Sydney.”

“Just wondering whose heart I should cut out for letting you get that badly sunburned.”

Sky blue irises fixed on her. “I will not complain that the Maker failed to deliver me without a bonnet or gloves. A small burn in exchange for finding you is more than a fair price.”

She dropped her perusal lower. “He could've given you shoes that covered your feet too.”

“Lord Grosvenor provided me with a cooling ointment that has helped greatly. I will apply more later when I return to my rooms at the inn.”

Not good enough. “They look dry.” She stood, aiming for her bathroom. “Be right back.”

Naturally, the spy followed her instead of staying put. “Sydney?”

“That ointment isn't here, and I don't want you to leave to go get it. I,” she gripped her cane harder, “I don't want to wake up from a nightmare and have to doubt whether you were here at all. Can we try sharing a bed again without one of us running away?”

Pure wonder was staring at Sydney. Leliana swallowed and sucked in air. “Yes.”

Relief sagged her shoulders, and she beamed. “Cool.”

Eyelashes batted at her. “But right now? It is still early, no?”

Her stomach fluttered at the suggestive tone, but she was suddenly scared to kiss her again. The bottle of aloe gel twisted in her hands. What the hell to do with an agreeable Leliana until they grew tired enough to try and sleep? Take a walk? No. She didn't want to share Leliana's attention with things like traffic and skateboards. Skateboards... her mind thought back to the collision she'd been witness to. “You were there at the beach the other day. Oh my god, that _was_ you.”

“So, you did see me.”

“I'm so sorry, I-”

Fingers on her mouth stopped her. “Sydney. You had no warning, and I've begun to see that you doubted your own memories. How could you not when our worlds are so very different?”

Another terrible thought occurred to Sydney. “Detective One mentioned something about the station. Shit, did you end up in jail?”

A soft orange eyebrow cocked. “Detective One?”

Sydney's ears burned. “Oh, uh, it's what I call Olson. First time I met him, I'd just woken up and my head was full of cobwebs, couldn't remember his name, and One stuck.”

Light, airy giggles followed her announcement. She flushed at the adorableness of Leliana giggling. They faded as Leliana met her eye, yet the lingering smile more than made up for its loss.

Sydney grinned. “I've mentioned that you're adorable, right?”

Sapphires twinkled at her. “I would not mind hearing you say it again.”

Shifting closer to Leliana, she hummed. “You're adorable.”

“Only for you,” breathed over her lips.

The kiss was sweet and light. Short. Leliana drew back. “Could we rest on the couch? If we stay here, I'm afraid that I'll kiss you all night, and I wish to talk with you.”

Kissing all night sounded like a good idea. Sydney aimed for that goal.

“Sydney!” Leliana chastised her. “I said that I wished to talk, not kiss all evening.”

“Must you always be in control?” It was a teasing question, but Leliana's eyes lowered, and her frame drooped.

“My bardic training and my years as the Lef-”

Sydney stopped the words with a delicate kiss. “Leliana. I know who you are. There isn't any part of you that I'd want to change.” Her fingers went to her own throat, searching for a thin, faded scar. The memory of a sharp knife bit at her. That moment when Leliana had withdrawn because she couldn't stomach hurting Sydney was the sharpest. Her fingers curled. “Even your shadows.”

Shining depths glittered at her.

“But I do like it better when your shadows aren't aimed at me.” A wry smile twisted Sydney's mouth.

“Oh, Sydney.” Leliana sighed, her head shaking, short hair swishing. “I do not deserve such easy forgiveness.”

“Yes.” Sydney growled. “You do. Now, come back to the couch with me.”

 

Fiery orange hitting the wall brought Sydney's attention to the setting sun. Her windows faced south, and the sudden dip in light was putting the room into shadows. She glanced at Leliana, rose, went for the candles that she'd been collecting lately, and lit a few. About the time that she'd begun attending meetings for her PTSD, she'd started using candles instead of electric light -had almost exclusively- for several weeks. It had helped ease her sense of displacement. Still did, which was why she kept a good stock though her use of them had been gradually lessening.

“Candles, Sydney? The magic of your lights is incredible. Why not those?”

She _would_ see electricity as magic, Sydney snorted. What was that saying about advanced technology being magic to others? But maybe in Thedas, the people were more evolved to actually be able to tap into magic. She hung on that idea.

“Sydney?”

Returning to the couch, “I thought they'd be nice.” She swallowed and sat down, eyes on a flickering mote. A long quiet followed in which Sydney squirmed and tried to come up with a topic that had nothing to do with magic or nightmares. The burning sunset didn't offer any suggestions.

Leliana eventually broke the thick air with a soft question. “You also chose the ingredients for our meal in deference to me, did you not? That is why we did not eat the meal your mother brought?”

She nodded.

Fingers tangled and slid over each other in Leliana's lap. “Thank you.”

“It's a pretty harsh difference, our worlds.” Sydney offered, turning her gaze to her painted toes and wiggling them.

Leliana sighed. “The discomfort from the jail food lingers. I do not even have words for whatever was served. At the time, I thought it better than stale bread and moldy cheese.” A low whine described hours of discomfort. “I was wrong.”

“I can't imagine.” She chuckled.

A sour face pinched. “And though Lord Grosvenor was kind, the foods he introduced to me did not help. There were dishes he called kim-chee and bim-bop that he was rather excited to share. The vegetables were very,” a frown, “Different. And it was extraordinarily spicy.” Her face reddened with remembered heat.

Sydney's chuckles became real laughter. Spicy as fuck Korean food wasn't a good choice for a palate and stomach used to the non-fiery flavors of Fereldan and Orlesian cuisine. “Simple oatmeal for breakfast it is.”

“Oat meal?” Tone hopeful, Leliana repeated.

“Oat porridge. It might actually not be as good as the stuff we got in Skyhold.” Sydney thought about it. “But it sure as hell cooks faster.”

 

As the evening progressed from talk of food and cultures to tired yawns, the eventuality of going to bed with Leliana hit Sydney. Only for sleep. But with _Leliana._

“Sydney?” Leliana asked softly. “Copper for your thoughts?”

“The last time we sat around talking late into the night and decided to share a bed didn't end so well,” came out blunt and hard with her nervousness.

Sweet blue darkened to a stormy grey, and the reflection of flickering candles became lightning. “In my fear, I was terribly cruel to you. I couldn't possibly speak enough words or sing enough songs to properly apologize.”

Sydney almost didn't hear what had come from her mouth, too caught up in the vision of Leliana's expressive eyes. She opened her mouth for nothing to come out.

Lashes lowered. “I could stay upon the couch. When you awake, I will be here to prove you've not had another nightmare, but we d-”

“Stop.”

Blue looked at her again.

“Please, Leliana. Stop apologizing. I said and did some pretty shitty things too.” Sydney argued.

“I won't disagree. Finding horse shit in my boots was not a pleasant thing to begin a day with,” was said irritably.

Despite herself, Sydney grinned. “Oh, but it made so many people smile.”

Leliana huffed. “It was foul! The smell took weeks to get out!”

“Did that Rivaini potpourri help?” Convincing Josephine to gift the little bag of deodorizer to Leliana without revealing its true source hadn't been easy. The ambassador had been sore about Sydney and Sera's pranks.

“Thank the Maker for Josie and...” Leliana's eyes slotted at her. “How did you know about it?”

“People talk,” she shrugged. “I spent a lot of time in the tavern, you know.”

Slowly, her expression softened, lips curling up and sparkles appearing in her eyes. “I thought that Josie had been a little strange about that gift.”

Dammit. Shouldn't have said anything. It had been a bout of conscious, of guilt, that had propelled her to research, then buy, then deliver to Leliana's close friend the deodorizing bundle.

“That does explain why she didn't hold as much of a grudge against you as I expected of her.” Leliana's smile was sweet, lovely, enchanting, _adorable_.

“Grudge against me?” Sydney whined. “Why? For helping Sera get that bucket of water set up?”

“Josie is nobility, and the two of you embarrassed her in front of extremely wealthy, influential people.” She spoke as though to a simple-minded drudge though her expression remained amused. “Antivans are renowned for their ability to hold grudges.”

Sydney's vision went back to Josie as a sopping wet bundle of righteous anger. She grinned. “Worth it.”

A wide yawn was hidden behind a calloused hand, and Sydney's own yawn made her jaw pop. They looked at each other.

“I'll get you something to change into.” Sydney got to her feet, snagged a candle and hobbled to her bedroom. At her dresser, she stared with indecision. “Leliana,” she called. “Would you rather a long shirt or pa-”

“That would suffice,” came right at her elbow.

“Shit!” squeaked out of her. Leliana was no more than a foot away. “You need to wear a bell or something.”

“You should be more aware of your surroundings.” Leliana was unapologetic.

Scowling, Sydney dragged the long blue shirt out and held it up to Leliana. Joze had left it at some point, hadn't he? It was huge on Leliana, but not nearly long enough. The thing would probably leave the bottom of Leliana's... bottom exposed. “You get shorts too.” Hastily, she yanked out a pink pair.

“Shorts?” Leliana tugged at the stretchy waistband. “What is this made of?”

“Uh.” What was elastic made from? Rubber? Rubber trees were a thing, right? “Some kind of plant. I think.” She shrugged.

“Incredible,” gaped at the shorts.

Sydney smiled at Leliana's incredulity before hobbling to the chair where she'd tossed her own nightclothes. Not that they were much different from the worn sweats she was wearing, but these had cooking stains, and she didn't want that in her bed. She grabbed up the long blue pants with Miami written down one leg and the white tank top. Wait. Thin and _white_ , she never wore it around anyone without a bra, not with the way her nipples were obvious under it.

The tank got tossed at the dirty hamper, and another, darker one was yanked from a drawer. “I'll change in the bathroom.” She announced before heading in.

Door closed, Sydney stared at half of her reflection. “How is this my life?” She glanced at the door and back, slowly shifted her angle until she saw her entire face, the vast scars. The scars that she'd gotten in a world that _did_ exist, that Leliana wasn't afraid of or disgusted by. The scars that Leliana celebrated. With harsh motion, Sydney removed her clothes to stand naked and look at herself.

In this world, someone would say, “If you can see past the scars, she's pretty hot.”

Muscles toned from fencing and swimming. Skin bronzed from days at the beach. Rounded hips, firm breasts.

Leliana thought her attractive _with_ the scars. A smile stretched Sydney's expression, and she felt the familiar pull of drawn tissue. The smile hesitated. But would she still find her attractive after she'd seen the full extent of the damage?

Light knocking sounded on the door. “Sydney?”

She blinked. How long had she been lost in thoughts? “Just a minute!” She decided to relieve herself, then wiggle into her pajamas, and wash her face. “Sorry,” came out as she opened the door. “Hope you didn't need to use the toilet.”

Leliana shook her head. “Not overly.”

The carpet could use a vacuuming, she noticed. “I needed a minute to myself.”

Leliana's feet shifted. Her toes could use a pedicure. Baby-fine hair along Leliana's legs was peered at. The light from the bathroom made Sydney wonder if the hair was really as blonde as it looked. Must be nice. Her own leg hair was dark. At least the scar tissue didn't grow much hair. She didn't bother trying to get a razor around it, simply used an electric trimmer to keep it under control.

“Your stare is quite forward even for a woman with whom I've shared kisses.”

Sydney's gaze shot up to a slightly flushed Leliana. “Sorry. I was um,” thinking about leg hair. Women in Thedas all had leg hair. Only armpit hair was messed with and that because hair notoriously held onto odors. Nobility, and those who could afford small, sharp scissors, trimmed. “Thinking about different social standards.”

Amusement twitched. Was there disappointment too? Should she compliment Leliana's extremely nice legs? Beautiful, muscled, much less scarred legs. Jealousy pinged.

“May I get past? It would be nice to relieve myself.” Leliana softly cut off her train of thought.

Hastily, Sydney moved out of the way and stood in the hallway, wondering whether to crawl into bed or go back to the kitchen for a drink. She frowned at herself. “I drink too much.” A giant yawn took a long half-minute and made her see spots. “Shit. Okay. Bed.”

The bathroom door opened.

“Sydney, do you have,” a thoughtful pause. “I believe Lord Grosvenor called it a toothbrush. It felt much more effective than scrubbing with a cloth and chewing mint leaves. Do you have a spare one that I could borrow?”

Ugh. When was the last time she'd brushed her own teeth? Yesterday? And Leliana hadn't complained about kissing her? “Maybe.” She squeezed into the bathroom and pulled at cabinet doors, drawers. In a bag of random toiletries, she found a packaged toothbrush with a green handle, held it up. “You want paste too?” She grabbed her usual tube.

Leliana was turning the package over in her hands. “How does one open it?”

Cardboard and thin plastic had foiled the spymaster. Giggles arrived, multiplied with Leliana's annoyed scowl. Sydney poked her thumb at the perforated back. It sank in. “Like that.”

“Strange.”

Shoulders twitching with more giggles, Sydney pulled her own red toothbrush from behind the medicine cabinet and slathered paste across the bristles. She did the same for Leliana's brush.

“Andraste's ass! This is foul!” Leliana spat into the sink. “It tastes like a horrid dessert I had once. The man who created it was dismissed immediately, and he could not find work with Val Royeaux's nobility for years.”

Contemplating the sweet, potently chemical foam, Sydney shrugged and scrubbed away.

“Why would you put this in your mouth?” Leliana used her thumb and water to remove what she could from the bristles. “Sydney, _mon amour_ , if you taste of this afterward, I will have no interest in kissing you.”

Sydney stopped scrubbing. No more kissing tonight? Leliana would kiss overnight onion breath but not toothpaste mouth?

“Absolutely foul.” Leliana repeated as she returned the brush to her mouth and delicately went to work on her teeth.

Foam was spat out, rinsed from brush and mouth before Sydney finished brushing.

“Ugh,” another complaint. “It won't go away.”

“Toothpaste actually deadens the taste buds for a while.” Sydney offered.

Disbelief glared at her. “Why would you use such a thing?”

Sydney shrugged. “It's what we do?”

Leliana spat again, hacked up a wad of spit and swished more water in her mouth. “It is a ridiculous thing to do something simply because tradition demands it even when its use is detrimental to oneself.”

“I suppose so.” Sydney mumbled around her brush. She watched Leliana brush for a bit longer before swiping her tongue over teeth, nodding, and twisting the brush in hand. Finished with her own, Sydney rinsed it and opened the cabinet, stored it back in the cup. “You can put yours here too if you want.”

The green toothbrush _clinked_ into the cup. She hadn't shared a toothbrush cup with anyone since she'd been a teenager still living with her mother. With roommates on land or sea, she had never considered it, not even with the handful of girlfriends she'd had. But those women hardly counted. She had never had a particularly serious relationship, let alone lived with one. The two she'd slept with regularly had either gotten their own cup or kept a toothbrush in a travel cap.

This was ridiculous. Why was she obsessing over something that held stupid toothbrushes?

“With such a look, you rival Morrigan for intensity.” Leliana's voice was quiet and playful, yet her gaze was uncertain.

Sydney opened her mouth, closed it. She shut her eyelids and took a deep breath. “I'm nervous.”

“As am I.” Leliana yawned. “And I am quite tired. Today has been rather eventful.”

That hugely long distance to the hallway and the six feet down the hall reared in front of Sydney.

“Sydney,” Leliana spoke delicately. “We do not have to share a bed.”

“But I want to,” she whined, nearly stamping her foot. Hot and fast, a blush raced up her neck. She bit her lip at her childish impulse.

“Then let us go to bed before one of us explodes like a shaken fire bomb.” Leliana stated pragmatically and exited the bathroom.

In her silent footsteps, Sydney followed. She forced herself to act as though this was a normal night, getting to the bed, turning around to sit butt-first, resting her cane against the nightstand, slipping her legs under the sheets, and looking at the dancing flame of the candle she'd brought in. “Dammit. The candles.”

“Allow me,” came before Sydney could get up. Leliana vanished down the hall, and a moment later, the dim glow ceased. She returned as a dark shadow made strange by her modern clothing. In her hand was the bottle of aloe, and she popped the cap after a minor struggle, squeezed some into her hand, and rubbed it into her lips, feet, hands, arms, chest. “Would you assist with my neck?”

“Yea.” Sydney held out a hand for some lotion that she rubbed between her hands to warm it while Leliana sat next to her legs. Hesitantly, then quickly more assuredly, Sydney rubbed the soothing cream along the slim neck. Her fingers brushed over old battle scars. Thick and going nearly halfway around the neck, one looked like someone had tried to chop through, and her touch lingered. Magic must have saved Leliana's life.

“During the Blight, a group of renegades caught our ragged little band tired and off-guard. Only Alistair's sword and Wynne's powerful magic kept me from death that night.” Leliana hummed. “As they did on many occasions.”

With a _snap_ , the cap was replaced, the bottle set upon the dresser, the final candle was extinguished, and Leliana padded around the bed to her own side. She eased under the blankets and rolled on a side to face Sydney. Her face was barely visible in the city light coming in through the open drapes. Nine stories up, Sydney rarely closed them unless she was napping during the day. The gauzy curtain was enough privacy.

“And here we are once again.”

“Here we are,” echoed Sydney. She reached out.

Their fingers touched.

“I will be here when you awake.” Leliana promised. “And I will not push you away.”

Sydney felt like she should offer a similar promise, but all that came out was, “Thank you.” Sudden, heavy exhaustion weighed down on her. Everything ached. Her leg, her shoulders, her heart.

Fingers tangled with her own.

“May Andraste guide you through your dreams, my knight.” Lips pressed to her knuckles.

Heart full, Sydney smiled into the darkness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact:
> 
> The quote that Sydney refers to is from renowned sci-fi author Sir Arthur C. Clarke. “Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic.”


	23. An Ear for Music

 “ _Think I could find some sentinel breeches?”_

“ _Do I want to ask what for?”_

“ _So I could wear history. On my butt. Butt history.”_

_-Sera and Solas_

* * *

 

 

Sharp morning light woke Leliana. She blinked groggily, then shot up, staring about the unfamiliar room. Where w-

“'S'morning?” grumbled from the bed's second occupant. Thick scarring roped from the woman's lips to hair.

“Sydney.” She stared down at the woman she'd jumped into the unknown to find.

Soft eyes settled without focus on her. They sharpened a breath later. “Leliana.”

“Good morning,” she smiled and laid back down.

“Morning.” Sydney shifted and pushed messy hair away from her face, fully revealing her hero's trophies.

Leliana reached out to touch them, traced them down to taut lips. “You are a vision.”

A frown began.

“I look forward to many more mornings where your beauty is the first thing I see.”

The frown twitched into a shy smile that needed to be kissed.

“And kissing you is the first thing I do.”

Those enticing lips parted, and she moved forward to taste them. “I could get used to this,” mumbled against her mouth.

Leliana settled back on the pillow to smile at the beautiful woman who she loved beyond measure.

“I hope I didn't wake you last night.” Sydney said.

“No. Why?”

“Had a nightmare. And then I freaked a little when I found another body in my bed.” Rubbing her eyes, Sydney chuckled. “I had to grab my phone and shine it on you before I recognized the hair.” A pout began to form. “But then I was disappointed about not waking up with you curled around me like that first time.”

“It appears I've disappointed you not once but twice already.” Leliana sighed.

“Tiny disappointments that totally pale in comparison to waking up next to you and getting morning kisses,” came a sweet smile.

She couldn't help but reach out again and trail fingers along Sydney's jaw, lean close to touch lips to hers once more.

A delicate, lovely sigh brushed against her mouth as she retreated. “Yea. That.” Sydney's eyelids fluttered. When they opened, she looked dazed. “That's nice.”

Feeling rather dazed herself, Leliana simply smiled.

“I really like your smile, Leli.”

 _Leli_. A nearly childish shortening of her name, yet one she dearly loved, especially as Sydney was one of few who had ever called Leliana this. She was suddenly, terribly glad that Marjolaine never had. “Marjolaine made habit to call me Ana when she was not calling me her little bird.”

Sydney blinked and froze.

“I much prefer Leli.” She enjoyed the feeling of Sydney's jaw moving under her fingers. “Thank you.”

“If I ever meet Marjolaine, I might not be able to show her the mercy you did,” was Sydney's low growl. Her eyes flashed dangerously.

“Her death would not be worth the price of blood upon your hands.”

Features flushed with emotion, Sydney sat upright, placed her back to the headboard. Her fists curled. “I'm a lot less against spilling blood now than I used to be.”

Leliana joined her in rising. “You would allow darkness to taint you where you fought to free me of it?”

Sydney's breath stopped. Slowly, she turned to meet gazes. Fire burned in her eyes. “But...”  
“Not every problem should be solved with death.” She watched Sydney harden. “This is what you said to me in Valence, no? Allowing the enemy to live, to have a chance at causing more trouble, this is the choice of mercy, of Andraste's teachings, no?” This clashed with the interpretations of many. Death was a mercy at times. And she did believe that, but she also needed Sydney's sort of mercy.

Hearing her own words, her argument against the Nightingale's ruthless ways, Sydney flinched, softened, slumped. Her legs were pulled up and hugged.

Leliana touched an arm. “Mercy and forgiveness are not weaknesses.”

“Do you remember _everything_ you hear?” Sydney grumbled, though not with real heat.

She smiled. “Most everything that has to do with you.”

Legs were released, and Sydney rolled forward to hug Leliana instead. It was short, ending with a chaste kiss to her cheek, and Sydney removed herself from the bed. “I'm going to piss, then go start breakfast.” At the doorway, she paused to look back. The shy smile she sent Leliana was sweeter than Orlesian hard candy. “Take your time, Leli.”

Warm and content, Leliana remained upon the bed, surrounded by Sydney's scent and most personal belongings. This was how that morning should have gone so long ago in Skyhold. Leliana should not have woken shivering as she lay half over her table and papers. She should have woken with Sydney beside her.

Her body warned her that it could no longer hold its night's worth of water. Grunting, she made her way from bed to wash room. If Josie could see this toilet and the plumbing that rivaled dwarven craftsmanship, she would squeal. Only the wealthy could afford toilets or plumbing. Most toilets had tanks that sat above them, filled by rain water or the efforts of servants. Some few had dwarven plumbing, the kind that pumped water throughout a manor or castle, driven by the natural movement of a river or servants pushing a pump. The tank would drain into the toilet when the lever was pulled and wash the excrement down tubes to a cesspit or city streets or nearby river.

Here, the water for the toilets and the sinks was clean, clear, safe. It could even be delivered hot to the sinks. Leliana had heard of barely a handful of rich lords who could afford such luxury. Yet here, it was a common thing. An expected thing. Even for those in jail.

Leliana indulged in a wash. She removed her sleeping clothes and stepped into the ankle-deep warm water she'd drawn. There was a hose that could spray water upon her body, but it was such a decadent waste that she could not justify a morning's ablutions for it. She soaked her cloth, wet herself, then worked a bar of mint-scented soap into a fine lather and worked that over her body. She took care over the healing burns that remained tender.

Her hair had been washed the day before and did not need attention. For several moments, she contemplated using the scissors she'd found in the drawer to trim her body's hair. Using another's scissors for such an action was considered rude in Orlais. And trying to style one's own head-hair was remarkably difficult. She fingered the ends. They nearly brushed her shoulders.

A life, an age ago, flit through memory. Days in her youth when she'd worn her hair long, showing off her gorgeous red locks, the silken waves that garnered much envious attention. The lengths that Marjolaine would play with when they were alone together. Leliana growled and stepped out of the tub, reaching for the large towel to wipe herself with. She pulled on the soft clothing that Sydney had given her last night. The oddly stretchable material returned her mind to the present, to the strange world she'd traveled to.

Leliana startled at the sound of a violin coming from Sydney's sitting room. Could Sydney play one? The thought had barely coalesced before a different instrument took over, clearly the work of two musicians. Though she was in the wash room, she hadn't heard anyone enter, and Sydney had said she was preparing their morning repast. What was going on? More instruments joined the sound and blended with a woman's voice. An Orlesian, no, French? accent. Not Sydney. Leliana set aside her damp towel and tread lightly down the short hall.

“ _Le regard timide, les mains toute abîmées_ ,” crooned the low, almost guttural tones.

Sitting in easy view was Sydney and no one else, yet music filled the room. Her thumb shifted over a flat object in her hand, and the music stopped. Leliana whirled. Nothing.

“I wanted to introduce you to how we listen to music in this world.” It burst back into the air at exactly the note it had paused on.

Slowly, Leliana realized that she'd heard this sort of thing before, though her mind had been too full of other matters to truly comprehend the musician-less sounds. “Where are they?”

Sydney let out a soft chuckle. “It's called a recording. This music was made,” she paused, shook her head. “It's like a book, written once, you can read it over and over again.”

That made an odd sort of sense. A magical capture of a moment in time, able to be replayed at leisure.

“Breakfast is ready.” She rose and moved into the kitchen area. “Oatmeal and fresh fruit.” From a pot on the stove, she spooned porridge into two bowls. A lump of butter was gestured at. “Butter. There's milk. Sugar or maple syrup in the cupboard. How do you want yours?”

“I think a bit of milk would suffice.” Such luxuries, sugars and syrups. Leliana moved to the ripe fruits waiting. She recognized peaches, strawberries, and oranges. “What are these?” She gestured at a tub of blue balls and a long, yellow thing.

“Oh. Uh. Blueberries.” Small, round, blue berries. “Banana.”

She hefted the oddly shaped fruit and sniffed it. Her nose wrinkled.

“Like this.” Sydney took it and proceeded to rip it apart. Peeled it. A less yellow, more butter-colored fruit was revealed. It had a strange scent, but not as unappealing as the rind. The tip of it was cut off and presented to her. “Try it.”

The texture was both soft and pasty, firm and silky, and the flavor was mellow, yet distinct. “How odd.” A blue berry was presented next. It popped and juice burst into her mouth, bright and intense, sweet, tart, and lovely. She moaned.

Warm laughter followed her pronounced enjoyment. “Want some in your bowl?”

“ _Mais oui!_ ”

A handful was sprinkled in. From a square container, milk was poured into a glass. “However much you want.”

She added a few spoonfuls of milk while Sydney sliced a peach into her bowl that already had a pat of butter. They took their meal to the little table and enjoyed their first morning meal together that had not been preceded by a fight or training. Another song had begun, this one slower, though probably the same voice.

Perhaps into her third bite of porridge, Sydney's posture had gone rigid, and she was staring at Leliana heatedly, worriedly. “Sydney?”

She chewed her tongue before answering. “It occurred to me a lot of people have allergic reactions to berries.”

“A-lur-jick?” Whatever was that?

“A bad reaction. Swelling, itching.”

Oh. Yes. She was familiar with this. “You speak of the skin's reaction to wasp tree sap.” Contact with the sap resulted in a terrible rash that itched beyond measure. One had to be restrained or the skin covered in proper balms and bandages to prevent injury from constant scratching. To have such a reaction to a berry that one had eaten... A shiver danced along her shoulders. “I see. It will ease you that I feel no such itch or swelling or discomfort.”

Visibly, Sydney relaxed. She slumped forward around her bowl. “Good.”

Contentment returned to the meal. Both found smiles around their spoons again, and Leliana could not help the giggles that bubbled up.

“What?” came Sydney's amused question.

Her giggles sobered. “I've missed this.”

Sydney's spoon settled into her bowl. “Boring porridge?”

“Sharing meals with you.” Leliana sighed. “Seeing you smile.”

“I actually missed getting up at unholy hours to train with you.”

“As did I.” Eyes shimmered at her, and she reached out, caught hold of Sydney's hand, brought it to her lips for a gentle kiss. “I would spend a thousand-thousand mornings training in hip-deep snow if it meant sharing every following meal with you.”

“You're bound to get sick of me eventually.”

“And yet I still yearned for you,” was Leliana's sadly true response.

Sydney's lovely smile returned. For some time, they simply enjoyed each others presence. Leliana barely took note of the music until one song swelled into a grand climax, and she blinked at the abrupt reminder of a world beyond Sydney's smile.

Leliana gave the next song proper attention, and it was highly enjoyable. Yet... There was something lacking, and Leliana thought on it for several minutes before she caught at what bothered her. “Have you no music in this world that comes naturally?”

“What?”

“This is lovely, but does no one sing for an audience? No one plays instruments in the street?”

Sydney chuckled. “Oh. Yea. Concerts and stuff happen, but tickets can be really expensive or are in places too far to travel easily. Sometimes people play on the streets, especially on the weekend. There's live music at certain places fairly regularly.” She waved in the air. “Getting to see this artist live would require crossing an ocean.”

Oh. Relaxed at the notion that live music indeed graced this world, Leliana nodded. “Could I hear some of the music that the Inner Circle shared with me?” she sucked in air. “That lovely ballad Dorian sang so well.” In her throat, the notes swelled.

Until Leliana had finished humming, Sydney waited. “You've mixed a couple up.” Her voice was tight. “But they're the same artist.” She thumbed at her little box, shyly looked up. “I figured you'd like Adele.”

The music paused, and a different song began, opening with clear, simple notes upon a piano. A woman's voice joined. “ _I let it fall, my heart, and as it fell, you rose to claim it._ ” It was low, almost raspy, clear with a slight wave on the long notes. As the song progressed, Leliana grew to admire the voice even more. The woman exhibited a good deal of control, wonderful passion, and excellent range.

Leliana wasn't sure how long she remained lost in reflection, her mind and heart full, after the song faded. Dorian had a marvelous version of the song. There was no doubt about that. The original was simply _more_. She startled at the slight sound of Sydney sitting back in her chair.

“Oh, Sydney, you have such an ear for music.” Leliana burst out. “And you're a marvelous teacher for Dorian's rendition to be so close to this!”

Pink glowed under Sydney's sun-kissed skin. “Despite my shit voice.”

Anger tinted her response. “Untrained and common, yes, but your voice is not shit!” She argued with little more evidence than the one drunken display she'd accidentally heard and the love-sick conviction that nothing about Sydney could be terrible.

There was no response except Sydney lowering her head, jaw tight, and making a new song begin. Once more, a piano intro, then the same woman. Her voice was different.

“This one was performed in front of a large audience. And she's a few years older,” reserved, quiet, Sydney answered the unspoken question.

Leliana wished to ask Sydney to sing for her. She knew it would meet a negative response, and it saddened her. She'd had no idea Sydney despised her own voice.

The sound of applause, and the woman thanking her audience was disorienting. Quiet stretched once more.

“You said they sang to you.” Sydney didn't look up. “What else do you want to hear the original of?”

The atmosphere needed to change. Leliana reached into memory, past the haze of wine she'd indulged in, into the whirlwind of that night. It was Sera's reedy, scratchy yells that caught her first. That song which was so popular in the gutters of Orlais. As best she could, she recalled the lyrics she remembered.

Slight, off-kilter, a grin perked Sydney's lips. “Are you sure?” She peered up through lashes.

Her heart skipped at the mischief she saw in those light brown eyes. “Yes.”

That grin stretched farther, revealed teeth. “If you insist.”

What came next was an instrument she'd never heard before playing somber, repetitive notes. It was a string of sorts. Plucked. Not a lyre. Perhaps a guitar, more like one could find in Rivain. But harsher. There was a metallic _thresh_ like a knife scratching metal, though not sharp enough to be unpleasant, simply distinct. Something like the sound of fingertips on strings as they shifted position to increase or decrease the tension and create different tones. Were the strings metal? However could they get wire that thin and supple, yet did not rip the fingers apart? A man's voice entered. It was pleasant, light.

Overall, it wasn't too extraordinary.

Sydney's grin hadn't changed though, and Leliana's eyes narrowed. More instruments joined. Leliana jerked at the rumble of them. Sydney was visibly holding back a chuckle as Leliana struggled to identify the fresh noise. Some sort of drums. Another guitar? How did the musician get such a rumble from it? Like a cello, heavy and deep, but not as sonorous or smooth. It was like distant thunder. The feel of the song shifted, and the man took a breath. A change was coming.

The man's voice burst into something like a yell. Oh. That wasn't simply Sera's theatrics! It was short, thankfully, before he returned to a more mellifluous tone.

Chuckles became an undertone for the music. A music all their own. Leliana glared at Sydney. “I can see why Sera found this piece intriguing. It is harsh and angry.”

“This barely scratches the surface of harsh and angry.” Sydney laughed fully. “This is gentle compared to some of the other artists in this genre.”

She found that hard to believe and said as much.

If possible, Sydney's mischievous grin became sharper. “Don't tell me you didn't ask for it.” Her finger dramatically thudded to her little box.

Pure, violent sound assaulted Leliana. Some sort of shrieking instrument barely preceded a man screaming in her ears. Her heart hammered at her chest, sent her blood roaring, her muscles quivering for a fight. “You call this _music_?!” she demanded.

A short motion later, the assault stopped. Sydney shrugged. “Hatebreed isn't for everybody.”

Leliana found her breath ragged. She stared.

“What about...” Sydney thumbed something new.

It was metal guitars again. Not too horrible. Strange though. Then, “ _I hate you for the sacrifices you made for me_.” Throaty, rasping, a woman crooned. The music built. The woman's voice grew higher, scratchier, angrier.

Leliana tensed.

The music and voice peaked in a hard scream. “ _Blooood!_ ” climaxed as jarring and horrid and abrasive as a dracolisk's death cry.

She jumped from her chair, slamming palms to table. “Sydney!”

Silence pounded at her ears. She panted, leaning on the table for support.

“Wow,” drifted on Sydney's breath.

“What?” Leliana growled at the awed expression staring at her.

“I forgot how beautiful you are when you get worked up.”

Leliana found it not too hard to forgive Sydney's teasing and the horrid noise she'd been subjected to. She dipped low and stretched across the small table, was met halfway by scarred lips and hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Indila – Tourner Dans Le Vide.
> 
> Translation: Le regard timide, les mains toute abîmées - The shy look, hands all damaged
> 
> In This Moment – Blood


	24. Capitalist Ways

 “ _We're no longer fighting each other. We fight demons and the dead. It was easier when it was just men. You can win against men.”_

_-Corporal Rossellin of the Imperial Army_

* * *

 

 

Sydney pressed play on the  _Dragon Age: Origins_ trailer and watched Leliana's face. The damn spymaster kept it carefully blank. The  _Sacred Ashes_ trailer evoked a similar non-response. After it finished, Leliana had her play it again. Then a third time, but paused it, quick learner that she was, on a close-up of Sten. “He looked little like this. He had the stubs of horns upon his head and was much taller, less handsome.” She pressed play and watched until it reached her own image. “ _This_ is how I am imagined? Wearing armor and clothing unfit for mountain snows and spouting verses of the Chant in the midst of battle?”

Remembering being disappointed that the Leliana in the game did _not_ match the dark sexy one from the game trailer, Sydney was torn between a smile and a shamed blush. She compromised and shrugged. “Actually, this doesn't really match what players see in the game. It was presented as bait for the public before the game was finished. You and everything else looks slightly different.”

Leliana's eyebrows twitched, and she pressed play.

“This is ridiculous. I cannot jump like that.” A frown tugged at her lips. “And leaping through the air for a strike is tantamount to suicide unless you will not be seen until _after_ the attack. One cannot change direction in midair if your enemy is prepared to block or retaliate.”

If she thought that was ridiculous, she'd be livid at some of the porn out there. Mental note, never let her see any of... Then again, it could be fun to let her. Maybe she was channeling Sera, because, “If that gets your nerves boiling, you'd go crazy over the art out there that wanted you and Morrigan as a couple.”

Blankness covered Leliana again, but this time, Sydney was sure that it was from shock. “M-myself and _M-Morrigan?”_ Definitely shock.

“The kind, happy Chantry sister breaks through the witch's icy walls and stunted social skills. Or the ruthless bard clicks with the bloodthirsty witch. Both are favorite plots.” Sydney chuckled.

Fire erupted in Leliana's eyes. “Did you ever tell Morrigan about this?”

“No.” But it would've been hilarious.

“Don't you ever.” Her low voice threatened terrible things in recompense.

Sydney's ornery nature started to make her chuckle and tease, but the melancholy of _if_ they ever saw Morrigan or any of their other friends took hold of her tongue. Her shoulders drooped as she looked away. “I won't,” came out colorless and dull.

There was a touch on her cheek. “Sydney?”

“I was just thinking about how I might never see the friends I made in your world again.” Her thoughts plunged lower. “And if I do, it'll probably mean I'll have to say goodbye to the people I love here.”

Tenderly, fingers slid down her cheek to her jaw and lifted. Sydney brought her gaze to a mirror of her emotions. That bitter place between sadness and hope. “You have traveled between our worlds not once, but twice. And I have traveled as well. There is the chance that you could have both worlds in your life, no?”

“Maybe.” Sydney wasn't convinced.

“There is hope, my love.” Leliana spoke as though trying to convince herself.

It hurt too much to hope. Hoping to have a relationship with Leliana, despite her being right there, despite her admission of love, despite morning kisses, _that_ was too hard for Sydney's fragile heart. She frowned at her computer screen and clicked at the queued videos, bringing up the _Dragon Age: Inquisition_ trailers. She hadn't been able to watch any or play _Inquisition_ without having anxiety attacks since regaining her memories.

Many things were different. The looks and sounds of demons, their movements, not to mention that the game couldn't possibly get across the stink or the terrible sensations of being in their presence. Most of the companions were different in big and small ways. Sera's voice was close, but in reality, it was actually higher, scratchier, more abrasive and annoying.

Leliana's hand squeezed Sydney's shoulder. Her own image was on the screen, hanging from chains in that terrible future that Trevelyan had visited.

“You. Will. Break!” The man with the knife at Leliana's throat growled.

“I,” game-Leliana bent her neck to hiss back, “Will _die_ first.”

“What is this?” Leliana's voice pitched high.

“You can watch the fight with Haven's dragon, but not this?” Sydney grunted. She started to make another joke, but a look at Leliana's tortured expression halted her. “Leli?”

“That other was ridiculous. This,” she let loose a hot lungful of air. “This is more real.”

Gently, Sydney covered the hand with her own. “It's the false future Trevelyan visited. He gave a full report on it. The time magic that magister was using sent him there.”

“I remember. That's not why...” she shook her head.

The next trailer was playing. Sydney's heart was already thundering away from the scenes of demons and dragons, but she caught a glimpse of the Fade, and she was instantly thrown back in memory, to the fight with Nightmare. Remembered terror and pain surged in a tidal wave of panic that stole her breath, her thoughts. She couldn't move, her mind imprisoned by fear, her body broken and weak. Blood was everywhere. Her own blood. She was dying. She...

“Sydney!” Followed a biting slap to the face.

She gasped and stared at a vast sea, one so intensely blue it couldn't be real.

“Sydney?”

She blinked. The sea retreated, returned to its confines within Leliana's eyes. There she found her anchor. The storm of emotions battered her around, but she was in safe harbor, here with Leliana. Sydney found a normal rhythm to breathing before answering the questions burning in Leliana's gaze. “I almost died in the Fade.” She pressed her lips tight at the memory of pain, felt the familiar dull pull of her scars and rubbed her leg. “I'm not really sure how I survived. The doctors told me my heart stopped beating on the operating table twice. Miraculous, they kept saying. It's a miracle I survived.”

“A miracle for which I am immensely grateful,” whispered down to her.

Familiar irritation growled up. She'd heard similar meaningless platitudes from too many people. What did they know about dying? About the pain of surviving? Her jaw clenched. Disabled veterans rarely said such things. They understood. It was in their eyes as they looked at phantom limbs, shriveled features, canes and wheelchairs.

“Though it pains me that you had to endure such difficulty. I know it is not an easy path to recover oneself.”

Coiled muscles released. Leliana had fought in more than one war, had come close to dying a dozen times over, knew pain and suffering on a deeper level than Sydney. Her words weren't mere drivel designed to fill a silence that made her uncomfortable. She _understood._

Sydney rose and embraced Leliana. Through the hug, she tried to emote the sheer relief she felt at being around someone who'd shared similar horrors. Leliana might not know what it was to be a physical cripple, but she knew about suffering, she'd fought demons and undead and mages and dragons on top of angry, crazed humans. She'd been tortured like...

Abrupt understanding of Leliana's earlier reaction to seeing herself shackled hit Sydney. “Oh.”

“Oh?” echoed in her ear.

“I just realized why the torture scene hit you so hard.” Sydney leaned far enough to meet gazes. “Marjolaine's betrayal. The prisons.”

Leliana nodded. Once. “Yes.”

“Sorry.”

Gently, Leliana kissed her cheek. “It is alright. Both of us had strong reactions.”

Relief sighed. At the moment, at Leliana's presence, at their closeness. When she withdrew to herself, she remembered that she'd promised lunch with Mr. Governor -James- at her place. They had some hours to fill until then. How to fill them? The primal corner of her brain offered suggestions that she rolled her eyes at. Another corner of her mind, feeling overwhelmed and out of sorts suggested distance. A third corner railed against the very thought of being too far from Leliana right now.

Another glance at her apartment suggested that it could use a little sprucing up.

Leliana vs. the vacuum cleaner should be fun.

 

Contents of her fridge and pantry thoroughly glanced through and Leliana's sensitive stomach considered, Sydney decided that she would need to go shopping. She opened her phone's notepad app and started a list. Yesterday's delivery from her mom made a fine snack while she deliberated whether Leliana could handle garlic.

“What is this?” Leliana asked.

It was a hybrid French-Puerto Rican dish. Very buttery, very spicy. “Something that might make your mouth bleed.” Sydney chuckled. “It's spicy, kind of like the kimchi you had.”

Nose wrinkling, “Oh.” Leliana took half a step away. She watched Sydney eat with an expression between disgust and awe.

“Don't worry.” Sydney licked the spoon. “Lunch will be easy on you. There's fruit and nuts and crackers if you need a snack. Want me to get you something?”

The expression on Leliana went a little funny.

It immediately worried her. Had she said something wrong? “Unless you wanted to try this?”

“No,” was nearly spat at her. “I have no wish to ever again subject myself to what those spices did to me.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Leliana retreated to the couch where she had a glass of water and sipped from it before settling down with a pad of paper and pencil that Sydney had scrounged up for her. The pencil moved across the paper, deliberately, swiftly. She'd been at that notepad for well over an hour. What was she up to? Sydney's curiosity burned, but she held back from asking, from pushing the spymaster's boundaries too far.

The retreat from each other since watching the game trailers and the following adventure with the vacuum cleaner had felt almost necessary. Togetherness was strange. Sydney had a sense of vertigo, having Leliana here, confirming her nightmares as reality, that her scars really came from demons and giant snow cats and _magic_. And Leliana had always had a habit of mentally retreating. It was her nature as much as habit from years of being a secretive spymaster for the Divine, then for the Inquisition.

In this world, Leliana would probably be a CIA field agent. Or something equally dangerous and exciting and secretive. And well-paid. At those thoughts, Sydney's self-confidence took a nosedive. Before, she'd been a decently paid cruise ship employee. A bit of a rarity. Cruise ships were infamous for paying their employees shit wages. Now, Sydney was unemployed, almost unemployable. If her patron hadn't taken pity on her, she would be lucky to get enough welfare to buy a week's groceries let alone have a nice apartment and have enough free cash to take fencing lessons. And her hospital debt...

She was a nobody, worth nothing, in this world. She had next to no skills outside the customer service industry. And that was severely limited with her crippled leg and frightening scars. Call center work was probably all she was capable of, and she loathed the idea of being chained to a desk, taking call after call for hours on end. As a teen, she'd done a stint one summer answering phone calls for a large hotel chain. It had been horrible. She'd stuck it out for the bonuses, then ran as fast as she could to a job flipping burgers.

In this world, Leliana never would have looked twice at Sydney. If neither of them could ever return to Thedas, would Mr. Governor take on responsibility for Leliana until she learned the ways of this world enough to find income of some sort? Sydney scowled. She hated this, looking to others to take care of her, being weak and pathetic and...

She stomped to her feet. Under her hand, the cane creaked in protest, and she was glad of its sturdy material. She found her backpack and purse and sunglasses.

“You are leaving now?” Leliana asked when Sydney returned to the living room.

“Yes.” Though she abruptly wanted space away from her, “Did you want to come too?”

A long perusal followed. Leliana was too observant not to notice Sydney's discomfort. “If you wish the time alone, I am content here.”

“I...” she wasn't sure if she could verbalize her uncomfortable thoughts. “Not that I'm not happy you're here. I am!”

“But my arrival was unexpected, and it has thrown you off your normal habits.” A light roll of shoulders. “And I would be a curious child at your side who you would need to watch and guide and exert much energy for what should be a simple trip to the market.” Her lips were canted with humor.

Observant and brilliant and understanding and wonderful. Sydney smiled adoringly. Much of her frustration and anger vanished, leaving room for humor and affection. “Want anything specific?”

“N-” Leliana sucked in a lip, released it, leaned forward. “Could you find fresh apples at the market?”

Apples. The fragrant memory of tarts wafted in her mind. “For snacking or baking?”

“Both?”

“Yea.” Sydney smiled at Leliana. “I can make that happen.”

Emotionally bolstered, fresh ideas rolled through her mind as she hobbled out the door. You didn't have to be pretty to work at renaissance faires, to teach people swordplay or knife throwing or how to ride a horse. Between herself and Leliana, they had dozens of teachable, usable skills that could be applied at faires or places where people went primitive camping. Survivalists and disaster preppers would pay for such low-tech skills and knowledge.

Work with enough people like that and Leli would make contacts with people who might want other skills she had. Or maybe music. Leli hadn't sung or played openly in years, according to Cassandra and others, but her love of it remained strong, as evidenced this morning. She could teach or play. People would pay to listen to Leliana sing.

Hell, maybe they could move to Los Angeles, find studios to work with and show their actors how medieval people _actually_ swung their swords and disemboweled their enemies.

 

“James, please, Ms. Nelson.” Mr. Governor waved to cut off her attempt at using his name. _Misuse._ She couldn't for the life of her remember what it actually was. Some bartender she was. She was supposed to be good at the name thing.

“James. Only if you stop calling me Ms. Nelson.” Sydney bargained.

“Fair enough.” He agreed.

She nodded and gestured at the almost empty water glass beside his lunch plate. “More water or would you like something else?” Beer was particularly appealing at the moment. He made her nervous. It felt like having lunch with the owner of the cruise ship. She was literally at his mercy when it came to her finances. The idea of the anonymous patron was far more appealing than actually having him at her kitchen table.

“No. Thank you. Perhaps later.” His polite smile turned more friendly. “I take it that Ms. Vasseur did not return to her hotel last night?”

At the implication of his tone, Sydney's cheeks went hot.

“I did not,” was Leliana's calm response.

“You look rather well rested.” He noted.

Slow, warm, a smile softened Leliana. “Sydney's home and presence is rather comforting. Though I have a good deal of familiarity beginning my days with servants delivering food, I found the way of it at the hotel to be stressful.”

“You mean, using the phone to order food.” Sydney chuckled.

Leliana scowled at her. “Yes. It is bizarre to talk with someone with whom you cannot see.”

Sydney giggled. “No. Riding a lizard into battle is weird. Phones are perfectly normal.”

“Trevelyan and his love of dracolisks is beyond normal minds, I will agree. But your phones are disturbing to use,” came her annoyed response. “Though useful.”

“Should we,” James began, stopped. His cheeks looked darker. “Would it be in your interests to move Ms. Vasseur's things from the hotel to here?”

Go to bed with Leliana _every_ night? Wake up with her?

“I would not wish to impose upon Sydney's privacy.” Leliana demurred.

“If I felt imposed upon, I would've delegated you to the couch.” Sydney grumbled.

James' dark skin might hide his blush, but it couldn't hide his startled, pleased, embarrassed expression. Leliana's cheeks were definitely pink.

“Or I could see if there is another unit in this building free.” He offered.

The fact that he'd paid for _all_ of Sydney's extensive medical bills and her apartment, including giving her a monthly stipend still hadn't prepared her for his casual expression of wealth and generosity. She gaped at him.

“Your generosity is very much appreciated, Lord Grosvenor, but I d-”

“Why _are_ you so damn generous?” Sydney interrupted Leliana's diplomatic response. “I don't care how rich you are, no one is this nice to a complete stranger without wanting something.”

James blinked, but recovered quickly. “Of course. I want your story.”

“My story?” she deadpanned.

“Yes. Yours is not the first to reach me of a traveler to another world.” He nodded, expression serious. “But you are the first true one I have been able to contact.”

If she wasn't already sitting, she would have needed to sit down. “Wait a hot second. I'm not the first to get lost in space?”

“Not at all. People have been wandering between worlds since we have been telling stories.” James leaned forward. “The trick is telling the crazy, the imaginative, and the travelers apart.”

She felt queasy.

“My family has been finding and helping travelers in exchange for their stories for generations.”

A migraine threatened. “What stories are real? _Alice in Wonderland_?”

James chuckled. “No idea. My mother's last confirmed traveler was in the sixties. A man who'd been to a steampunk version of Earth where Hitler wasn't dead or defeated, though his regime had been pushed out of western Europe.”

 _Steampunk?_ She saw Leliana mouthing the unfamiliar word.

“Steampunk Nazis in the sixties.” Sydney shook her head. “How many novels and comics are based off that?”

James' smile went smug. “Such stories can bring a good deal of wealth by themselves. Some of the unique technologies the traveler described, my mother was able to have them translated to usefulness in our world. Wealth is the second reason we search for travelers. The first being sheer curiosity, of course.”

“Of course,” she echoed. Her irritation at his capitalist ways ebbed quickly. She couldn't blame him. Hadn't she just been thinking that morning of how she wanted to translate skills and knowledge learned in Thedas to income here?”

“There are also the important questions of how? How did you travel in the first place? Can it be replicated? Can trade between the worlds be established? Would that be safe? And there's the most titillating of questions: did that world exist before or after its appearance in our imagination?

Did our imagination create it? Or did its existence create the idea? And if it did, how did we learn of it? Some primal force, some magic within us that recognizes other places and has to share the knowledge of it in any way we are capable? If our imagination created it, did its popularity in turn affect its growth? Will it eventually evolve beyond our initial scope of it?”

Sydney's mind reeled with what James was saying. It was too much to think about, let alone respond to, it was...

“Then perhaps the Black City, the infection of darkspawn is not from despoiling the Maker's throne, but from some other world.” Leliana had no problem responding, thinking broadly.

Sydney laughed. If there was anyone who would be overjoyed at the idea of this insanity of a revelation, it would be the bard.

Blue eyes narrowed at her. “If you can change my world, Sydney, then the darkspawn could be a change from another world too.”

At the hurt layering her tone, Sydney's laugh immediately sobered. “I wasn't laughing at your theory, Leliana.”

“Then tell me, traveler,” was dangerously calm, “What did you mean by laughing?”

She swallowed before replying with a dry throat. “My brain froze up at what he said, but there you were, jumping right into it.”

Leliana's careful expression didn't shift.

“There I was, brain totally frozen by what he was talking about, but you were already tying threads of ideas together to weave a logical theory.” Sydney felt like a trapped rat. “The storyteller. Bard.” Leliana's expression wasn't changing. “Historian?” No matter what she would say would be wrong. Why was this happening?

“And how was that amusing?” was demanded.

Shit! “Because,” she flailed, “Because you love stories, and you're brilliant, and, and so, while I was sitting there with my thumbs up my ass, you were _thinking_. I thought it as cute, Leli. God, could you please stop looking at me like you're plotting the next six moves in a game of chess with Cullen?”

“He owes me a rematch. I still don't know how he won that last game.” Sharp cunning studied Sydney for a breath longer before shattering to sly amusement. “Do you so enjoy having thumbs up your ass? I did not think my skills in such an area would be of use with you.”

On little more than her own spit, Sydney choked. She coughed and wheezed until the burning in her lungs eased and she had a true headache. Leliana's expression had eased more from amusement to smug superiority. “No. I think those skills should keep collecting dust.” Sydney finally managed. Was Leliana fucking with her or was she actually into that? Or simply learned that kind of sex play for her bard training?

Lashes slowly lowered and lifted. A wickedly demure smile was aimed at her. “If you insist.”

“I insist,” squeaked out.

Uncomfortable coughing pushed at the following silence. Mr. Governor -James, you dumbass, you can remember _James_ , Sydney scolded herself- cleared his throat again and changed topics. “What other sort of skills do you have, Ms. Vasseur?”

“Please, if you would have us call you James, you must call me Leliana. Vasseur is not even truly mine to use.”

He dipped his head. “Leliana. What is your true name, if I may inquire?”

“I have no family name.”

“No family name?” James looked as surprised as Sydney had felt the first time she'd met a man from Bangladesh who only had one name. In the modern world. It was so weird for her American mentality.

“My mother was a servant and my father was the son of a small merchant. I am only Leliana.”

 _Only_. Leliana was a woman of many names and titles. Sydney rolled her eyes. Then she twitched. Leliana's dad was a merchant's son? “What happened to him?”

“He met his end before I returned to Ferelden,” didn't exactly answer the question. Leliana studied her, glanced at James. She straightened, took a breath. “He and mother spent a few lonely nights together. When she discovered her belly growing, he gave her a few coins, an old lap harp, and a children's primer to teach me my letters. He married the third daughter of a minor noble and followed in his father's footsteps. He sent me a letter and some small gift on every name day until his wife discovered my existence and forced him to stop. I never met him in person.”

Neither the games nor her time in Thedas had taught Sydney anything about Leliana's father. She gaped in shock.

“From his letters and what information I later gathered, he was a decent man. Intelligent, fairly capable in business, and had a love for music.” Her expression went wry. “Mother could not carry a tune to save her soul.”

All this free information and Sydney wasn't the only one getting it? Jealousy began to rear its ugly head. A second thought cut it off at the knees. Why was Leliana sharing such intimate information with a relative stranger? Leliana wasn't that free with secrets.

“Fereldan is the place where the Blight happened, correct?” James asked.

Leliana nodded. “You've played those games?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I'm no gamer. I watched videos and read a lot of texts on the lore of Thedas after I heard the rumors concerning Ms. N-Sydney.”

Only close friends and her shrink knew about Sydney's travels. How? Suspicion roared through her, making her bristle and consider going for the sword on the wall.

“If you're wondering how I know, no one betrayed your confidence, Sydney.” He soothed. “I did a lot of piecing together from reports and hospital gossip and such.”

“Oh.” Well, that made sense. She deflated.

James' smile was reassuring. “I feel like I've spent half my life combing through reports and newspaper stories.” His smile went dry. “The other half, I spent in training to be able to read them and connect the dots.”

And so the conversation continued, James pulling more tales of Thedas from them, Leliana offering more than Sydney expected, until James' phone rang, and he begged forgiveness that he had business matters to attend to. Before he left, he wrung from them the decision that Leliana would be staying with Sydney for at least a couple more days. They would consider his offer of getting Leliana an apartment of her own.

Sydney's budget had been increased, and she was to call him on the number he left if she needed anything, otherwise, they'd talk on their Skype date in two days. He had to be in Philadelphia for a while. His departure was a relief.

A momentary one. Leliana reverted to her earlier contemplation about Thedas, darkspawn, and the Fade.

“Perhaps the Fade was another world too. Not originally a part of Thedas.” Leliana paused. “Or maybe it was created to hold back the demons and spirits like the elf legends say. The demons and spirits came from another world.”

The headache that Sydney had felt blossoming during lunch throbbed harder.

“Flaming nug shit! My head could explode thinking of all the possibilities.” Leliana complained after another ten minutes of verbally chasing ideas and suppositions.

The liquor cabinet called. Sydney rose and went to it, tossing over her shoulder the offer to pour Leliana a drink as well.

“Please,” nearly begged her.

Whiskey bottle under an arm, glasses with ice in one hand, cane the other, Sydney made her way back to the table. The afternoon dwindled to the bottom of their glasses. Dinner was a more sober affair where they decided to go out into the world the next day.

Sydney abruptly stilled, her glass of water pausing halfway to the table. “You can swim, can't you?”

Leliana made a dismissive gesture. “Of course.”

The glass settled back upon its ring of liquid. “Let's go to the beach.” Her favorite place next to Lobster's Folly after the customers had left for the night, when it was only her mom, Joze, and a handful of workers who'd finally stopped staring at Sydney's scars, where they shared a few drinks and laughs as they cleaned up and prepped for the next busy day. At the beach, her bathing suit exposed her in ways that she normally covered with pants and careful styling of her hair, but there she could _swim_.

And strike her for being a lech, but Maker, she would enjoy the sight of Leliana in a bikini.

 

 


	25. Essentially a Religious Fanatic

 “ _A garden needs a gardener. Nurturing, gentle hands, directing the change.”_

_-unnamed Red Templar_

* * *

 

 

“You're sure?” Sydney asked Leliana.

They stood in front of a unimpressive section of beach. Ocean stretched to the sky, Miami rose behind palm trees, and people covered almost every inch of available sand. The most that stood out was a half-destroyed sandcastle and an empty packet of chips. Sydney glared at the trash, stooped to pick it up.

“I am certain this is where I first arrived in your world. The angle of the buildings is correct.”

Crinkly package in hand, she surveyed the area, her eyes not not on the present, but images from the internet. “This is where I was found too.”

“Perhaps this is a place of old magic, like Skyhold.”

The back of her neck prickled with a familiar sensation. “But Andraste took me from my bed, and that was several miles from here.”

“You make her sound like a barbarian raiding a village and stealing young virgins to do with as they please.” Leliana teased, though there was an undertone of deep-seated hatred for such barbarians and insult that her prophet had been compared to them.

Sydney shrugged.

“Morrigan mentioned that her voices sensed powerful magic at work around the time that you appeared in my world. However,” thoughtful wrinkles lined her face, “She said she felt nothing unusual when you must have departed it. Perhaps this place is much like a light on a foggy night. It is a place to aim for.”

Less power needed to toss her away. Used up and useless. Sydney frowned.

“After what Lord Grosvenor explained, it makes a good deal of sense that your world has places such as this that draws travelers home.”

Sydney wasn't entirely convinced that James wasn't a raving lunatic despite her own experiences traveling worlds and experiencing magic. Hypocrisy was as hard a habit to shake as drinking away her troubles.

Leliana squeezed her hand. “Copper for your thoughts?”

“I wonder if this could lead _back_ to your world,” hadn't been what she was thinking. It became all she could think about.

Wind played with their hair, and the sounds of the noisy beach wrapped around them. “Perhaps.” Leliana finally said and moved closer, kissed her jaw. “But I would not go back without you.”

“Lel-” icy cold liquid hitting the back of her head snapped her into motion, whipped her around, put her cane an inch from a pointy nose belonging to an unpleasantly plump white woman, whose sneer went wide with fright. In her hand was an empty drink cup. The smell of Coke invaded Sydney's nose, and liquid dripped down her back. The bitch had thrown her drink at Sydney! What the hell?

Beside her, an even rounder white man with short, buzzed hair, scowled at her. “What the hell do you think you're doing, you filthy sinner?”

Oh. Disgust boiling in her stomach, Sydney lowered her cane, resettled her backpack, and made to walk away.

“God hates gays!” screamed the woman, her voice high and shrill and surprisingly not thick with a southern accent. “You'll burn in hell for your disgusting acts! Only a man should lie with a woman!”  
Leliana started laughing, rich and full. “You did not tell me your land was as backwards as Tevinter.”

“Are you laughing at us?” The man took a threatening step forward, fist raised.

Unafraid, Leliana laughed again. “Of course.” The fist swung, missing Leliana by a breath simply because she moved lazily. “Why wouldn't I laugh at such pitiable idiocy?”

“Bitch!” He swung again.

This time, Leliana danced around him. “This will get old rather quickly. Perhaps you should stop before you hurt yourself.”

Red-faced, puffing, angry and humiliated, the man lunged.

Leliana's indolent kick to his butt was as graceful as he was clumsy, and he plowed into the sand face-first. She held out a hand to Sydney. “Come, let us leave this fool where he lies.”

Awe, admiration, and amusement stared at Leliana's hand. No one had ever defended Sydney like that before. Not that there had ever been much need. This was the first time she'd had religious zealots get violent with her, excluding drunks at the bar.

“Get up, Gavin!” The woman shrieked at her husband.

Sand flew at them, then the man was barreling up from the sand in their direction. Both women pivoted to allow him to pass harmlessly by. Sydney looked at the crowd for the cops that often patrolled. “Anyone seen a cop?”

Some of the crowd stepped back at her attention, more cheered for the asshole's bloody lesson, others for the sheer thrill of violence. A handful sneered. One pointed down the beach. Damn.

A beach umbrella had appeared in Gavin's hand. When it swung, Leliana rolled away. Then Sydney parried it. On the third wild swing, Sydney mimicked the maneuver that Howard had used on her, twisting aside, delivering a hard blow to Gavin's knuckles. The umbrella dropped as he howled. His eyes were huge and wild, his teeth clenched, face contorted with pain and rage.

“Seriously, leave us alone.” Sydney spat at him.

“Lesbian whores!” was his pathetic response. “God will judge you, and you will pay for this!”

His wife was at his side, peering at the welt already growing on his hand. “We should sue you,” came her shrill cry.

“Are you fucking serious? You threw your soda at me and attacked us!”

“You deserved it!”

Indignant fury made Sydney tremble. She half expected her cane's handle to snap under the stress of her clenched fist. She hoped there were broken bones under that bruise.

“Sydney.”

She looked at Leliana, who nodded her head away from the fanatics.

Through the crowd that was holding up phones and videoing the exciting moment, they passed and kept going until the stares let up, were replaced by the usual double-takes at Sydney's scars and Leliana's beauty. Not until they were relatively alone and far from the small-minded fanatics did Leliana's smile fade. Concern softened her, put wrinkles along her brow. She stroked Sydney's arm. “How are you?”

“Wet,” she grumbled. “And not in a good way.” A strand of hair was lifted. It clung to others in a gross lump and stuck to her fingers. “And sticky. Grossly sticky.”

“We could take a dip in the water.” Leliana gestured at the sparkling expanse. “As we had planned.”

Her mood buoyed at her favorite activity, the one where she could forget that she was a cripple and move like normal. “Yea.”

Sharp eyes caught her shift in mood, and Leliana giggled. “How excited you are for your return to the sea. Like a fish.” She sucked in a delighted breath, her smile growing huge and delighted. “ _Mon petit poisson._ ”

“ _Your_ little fish, am I?”

Slyly, assuredly, Leliana angled her body along Sydney's, their barely covered thighs and hips brushing. “But of course.” She brushed strands of hair away from Sydney's eyes, and her bold sensuality softened to shy hesitance. Her fingers trailed down a cheek. “Unless you prefer a different arrangement.”

Sydney went wide-eyed. What was she offering? An open relationship? Her heart balked, and her mind scoffed. She was far too selfish and lazy to handle more than one woman at once! “No.”

Fingertips traced the lines of her jaw. “No?”

Breath a little too fast, heart beating erratically, she stared. “It's not much, but if you really want me, I'm all yours.”

“Oh, my love, I would have you.”

 

Finished with recounting her previous day's beach adventure with Josiah over beers at a noisy bar, Sydney expectantly awaited his laughter or cheers or... anything other than the thoughtful silence he was giving her.

“This is _not_ the kind of reaction I was going for.” Sydney grumbled.

“You realize that Leliana is essentially a religious fanatic, right?” Josiah noted. “She has visions. She's killed for her religion, Syd.”

“When you put it that way...” she squirmed uncomfortably. She'd never thought of Leliana in those terms. The depths of her amber beer were frowned at before being swallowed.

His head canted. “Have you told her you're an atheist?”

Unintended laughter burst from her.

“Hey! If you don't want best friend advice, I can leave.”

“No.” She grabbed a handful of his stylish board shorts. “Stay. Please.”

Pouting, he sat back down. The beard he had decided to let grow out was almost as red as Leliana's hair. It was thin and had a few bald spots in it. Trevelyan's wasn't much thicker, something Sera and Bull enjoyed teasing him about, comparing his unimpressive whiskers to their resident Warden's luscious beard. Sydney's mood was struck lower when she remembered Blackwall was actually Thom Rainier. He'd impersonated a Grey Warden, was the murderer of an Orlesian General and his family, and the Inquisition had turned its back on him, allowed Orlais to execute him.

“Joze.” An equally uncomfortable truth popped up. “I'm basically a prophet in her world.”

His expression pinched and he twisted his beer glass. The ring of condensation expanded on the table's blemished surface. “You've said that.”

“And I might believe that holy intervention did pick me up and swing me around. I mean, come on.” Her hand waved at her face.

For longer than usual, he studied her. “But, do you believe in her god? Her religion?”

Sydney huffed and slumped back into her chair. She wanted another beer. “I don't know.”

“Might want to find out if that's going to be a problem.”

“Who gave you the I can give good relationship advice diploma?”

“Experience with several long-term, very intimate relationships,” was his unruffled retort. “Unlike someone else I know.”

“Yea yea.” She waved him off, though her mind was already considering the matter. Did she believe that Andraste was more than a simple figure in Thedosian history? That the Maker was real? That he might be the same god of the Christians and Jews and Muslims of this world? She distracted herself by getting up and heading to the bar.

Two shots of whiskey and another beer was requested. She eagerly tossed back the shots, ordered one more, drank that as well. The harsh burn of the cheap stuff made her cough. It took a long slug of beer to wash the bitter tang away.

“I finally learned that the next _Dragon Age_ was never finished.” Josiah offered when she returned to the table.

Sydney raised her brow.

“Yea.” He nodded. “Apparently, there were huge disagreements within the company about the storyline being too dark.”

“Too dark?” was her incredulous snort. “Coming from the people who wrote _broodmothers_ into existence?”

He shrugged.

She pulled her phone out and thumbed in a search. Results popped up without her phone dying or glitching or being weird at all. The game's original storyline had been thrown out halfway through production when the lead team had lost several writers and designers to an explosion in their main offices. A poorly serviced boiler had exploded during a busy Monday, killed dozens, injured dozens more. The tragedy had happened a few months after Sydney's disappearance. Without the core team, the executives turned to a lighter topic.

Initial teasers at E3 were received poorly. Gamers had hated the toned-down world. Forums and blogs had roared with their outrage at the vanilla shit they'd been insulted with. Rumor had it that executives were scouring resumes for dark, gritty writing, even going so far as to peruse the archives of fan fiction for fresh recruits. Everyone wanted a good story.

“And your religious fanatic of a girlfriend is fighting a holy war with you as one of the figureheads.” Joze returned to the original topic. “A war that, according to an inside source, was followed by another that decimated Thedas. It was something similar to the dark future with Corypheus.”

“But Max and Cassandra wouldn't let that happen. The Inq-”

“Might not have a noble Cassandra to guide them. Choices and consequences vary, Syd.” He rubbed his neck. “I can't believe we're arguing paradoxes and timelines in video games like this.”

“We've always argued about video games.”

“Not like this,” he retorted. “Not when you've fucking lived through one, when you have scars,” ended on a harsh note.

She peered drunkenly at the ones on her hand, then the callouses on the other side. “Guess I've gotten even better at being ridiculous as fuck.”

He laughed, and there was an edge of hysteria to it. “At least there's that.”

“Shit, Joze. Did I tell you what Mr. Governor said about worlds being created by fucking writers?” She blurted. “There could be a thousand different Lelianas out there! All totally different from each other!”

“No!” He yelped and shook his hands at her. “Do not start some philosophical shit about infinite worlds. I am _not_ drunk enough for that!”

Sydney blinked at her beer. “Neither am I.” She lurched to her feet. “Bartender!”

 

“ _The King and I_!” Sydney squealed after lunch the next afternoon.

Keen blue eyes fixed on her. “You have the acquaintance of a king in this world?”

The sincere curiosity made her giggle. “It's the title of a movie. A great story. I think you'll enjoy it.”

Sydney dove to her computer where she had a copy of it stored. Halfway through the old flick, Leliana faced Sydney and poked an accusing finger at her. “You are exactly like Anna.”

Was that a compliment? “I take it that you're the pompous king.”

“Of course I am the impressively dressed king,” came her snobbish reply.

Sydney huffed indignantly and went back to looking at Anna's dress and the way it poofed out from her hips. “Is there something wrong with my bustle?”

A slow grin curved. “I much prefer the _natural_ shape of your hips.”

“You do?” came out way more self-consciously than she wanted.

From Sydney's lower half, Leliana's gaze slowly dragged upward. “There were days when it was obscenely difficult to hide the attention I paid your body.”

Heat transferred from that gaze right into her chest. She sucked in a trembling breath.

“Sydney, you are a priceless jewel,” was thick on Leliana's tongue as the woman fully turned to face her and place a hand on her thigh.

Without active thought, her thighs shifted away from each other.

Deep sapphire eyes darted down at the motion. Both of them froze, caught on the edge of intimacy and _intimacy_. “Perhaps,” panted from Leliana. “Perhaps we should discuss our views on propriety and,” she swallowed, “Erm, personal needs.”

“Sex is good,” came her body's immediate response. With a groan at her idiotic mouth, she closed her eyes, covered them with a hand, and let her head fall to the couch.

Tinkling laughter erupted. “Oh, my knight, it is a good thing you have already won my heart.” Lips found her own, then a body was sitting in her lap, hands settling around her neck, fingers threading into her hair. Leliana pulled back and was smiling when Sydney uncovered her eyes. “And because you have my heart, we should discuss these things. I would not wish to use you for my own pleasure as I would a casual companion.” Her shoulders rolled. “Though I have not had one of those in many years.”

How many more people had Leliana tasted than Sydney's four? Would she seem like a boring amateur? “I have a lot less experience than you.”

Leliana was silent for a moment before leaning in for a gentle kiss. “We will both be new to each other the first time, _mon amour._ ”

Sydney found that her hands had acquired warm resting places on Leliana's hips. “Yea.” she smiled at Leliana's carefully chosen words. “I guess we will.”

 

The detectives showed up again, asking about Sydney and Leliana's visit to the place where Sydney's bloody body was discovered and the subsequent “fight” with the asshole. Sydney wasn't the only one who was good in a fight.

“How did the two of you meet?”

“Through mutual friends.”

“What are the names of these friends?”

“Does it matter? They're French and live in France.” Sydney grumbled.

“Where did Ms. Vasseur learn to fight like that?”

“Probably the same way I did.” Sydney replied.

The lead detective tilted his head. “And how was that?”

“Self-defense classes with my mom. Bartending isn't all smiles and good times, you know.”

“Would you ask her for me?”

Irritated, Sydney repeated the question in French, listened to Leliana repeat their story, and repeated _that_ to the detectives, who looked entirely unhappy. She wondered if they had a translator listening in to the conversation. What were they searching for? Some Cartel connection? What was driving them to follow her actions this intensely? The same questions she'd been asking for months, would she get answers to them?

 

A week after Leliana's appearance at Sydney's door, hunger and a desire to explore had the two taking a long stroll, idly searching for an interesting place to take lunch. Leliana spent more time staring at her lovely companion than looking for a cafe. She looked particularly dashing today. Simple green tunic and white trousers of airy linen draped enticingly over her lithe figure. Bright flashes of precious metals and jewels decorated wrists and throat. Her hair flowed softly over her shoulders, glossy and healthy. And her eyes, oh her stunning eyes, they were a magnificent amber under the midday sun.

Leliana's breath caught every time their eyes met.

“Oh, wow. She'd make a great Leliana,” came a hushed exclamation from nearby. “Think she'll be at the con later?”

Leliana found her gaze suddenly on a strange likeness of Cassandra in her Seeker vestments. She blinked and discovered a Vivienne next to her, others in armor and clothing one might find throughout Thedas. How had she missed this gathering in such a large public area? A roaring flush must be upon her cheeks. She had been too caught up in staring at Sydney to take note of her surroundings.

“There's a con this week?” groaned from beside her.

She returned to her favorite distraction. “Sydney?” rolled a dozen questions into the name.

From between fingers, Sydney looked at her. “Um.” Her gaze darted to the crowds. “It's a gathering of people who like games. As you can see, they like to dress up as...”

Both of their attentions snapped to a familiar outfit, a lavender hood, orange hair poking out from under it. Sweat dripped off a pale chin.

“Their favorite characters,” finished in a ghost of a whisper.

“Now _that's_ a Leliana,” hummed from the group.

“For entertainment.” Leliana nodded. “This is similar to that faire you spoke of earlier?”

“You are too calm sometimes.” Sydney mumbled.

In sheer amusement, she flashed Sydney a delighted grin. “Your world is strange, but wonderful. I wish to see this faire. Perhaps we may find armor and clothing there that will allow us to mingle at this game con.” The last words fell clumsily. Mischief smoothed her next words, “And we will see how many think you the Inquisitor.” A sharp breath. “Or the Warden.”

Under her gaze, Sydney shifted uncomfortably, would not look up from the ground.

“Your scars have the look of a dragon's work. Did you realize?”

Her jaw popped. “Yes.”

“There are few who can boast surviving a dragon's mauling. Only the greatest of warriors.” Leliana tried to soothe Sydney.

Brown eyes flashed at her. “Bull told you I pissed myself the first time I saw one, right?”

“And yet, upon facing an archdemon -something far worse than any dragon- you did not falter. You stood before a demon of fear so old and powerful it would have taken an entire Circle to best, and showed no fear. You, who is more sensitive to demons and their magic than any mage I've ever met or heard of.”

Sydney glared daggers at the happy crowd. “It sounds like Varric indulged in a little too much artistic license with those stories.”

“I think,” Leliana hummed. “That Varric did not exaggerate when he told your story to me.” As Sydney opened her mouth to protest, she went on. “For his story matched every other, except perhaps Sera's.” Stubborn protest lingered in Sydney's eyes. This would not do. Leliana needed to prepare remarks and arguments for the future, to interrupt and try to dispel this lack of self worth that was festering in her knight's heart. Had it been there in Skyhold? Was it something that was born of this world?

“We can go to the faire later if you want, but there's no way we can get tickets to this event. They sell out weeks in advance.”

Leliana didn't believe there wasn't a way in. There was always a way into exclusive events. Someone would be willing to sell or trade their tickets, not to mention the darker ways of obtaining tickets or slipping into the event itself. She perused the stiff lines of Sydney's face and decided not to press the issue. It was easy to guess why Sydney would be uncomfortable in such a situation.

“As you say, _mon amour._ Let us resume our hunt for a meal.” Leliana smiled softly at the relief on Sydney. “Tell me again about this swordsman you sparred with.”

 

 


	26. Dress Shopping

“ _Is that it? The hand anchor mark? It's pretty. The Breach was pretty too. In a... 'destroy everything' sort of way.”_

_-Arcanist Dagna_

* * *

 

 

Mid-afternoon on a slow Thursday saw Lobster's Folly devoid of all customers. Staff was prepping for the evening, grabbing lunches, counting tips, going out back to smoke. Sydney was at the bar with her mom, tasting the new drink the bar manager Frank was tinkering with. It was too sweet for her taste.

“Less pineapple juice.” Sydney suggested to Frank.

Thoughtfully, he nodded. “More ginger ale?”

Another sip. “Yea.”

“ _Mon chou._ ” Janine started in that way that said she was likely going to lecture Sydney.

“ _Maman?_ ” Sydney droned.

“Your Leliana. She loves music.”

She glanced to where Leliana talking animatedly with the pastry chef. He'd spent the first twenty years of his life in West Africa, which made his French dialect and upbringing especially fascinating to Leliana.

“Yea, she does.” Sydney frowned at her mom.

“Do you have plans to take her to a symphony performance yet?”

Yet? What kind of question was that? “I was thinking about getting tickets to a concert f-”

“Sydney,” scolded her. “She has _classical_ tastes. Tchaikovsky and Mozart and Joplin are sounds she would want to hear. What about art museums?”

“She's barely been here over a week, mom. Seriously.” She retorted. “I'll bring it u-”

“A wine vendor trying to schmooze his way into bigger sales gave me two tickets to an upcoming performance. You'll take your girlfriend.” Janine overrode her. “And you'll take her to museums. She soaks in culture like a sponge. She'll love them. They'll be good date places.”

“Mom!” she hissed. “I do  _not_ need dating help.”

Her mother made a dismissive noise. “You need to get out more too. You used to love the museum of natural history. Start there.”

Though they were good ideas, Sydney bristled at her mother's interference and embarrassing nosiness. Dammit, she was a grown woman. She'd managed to win Leliana's affection just fine without fancy performances and museum trips. She didn't need to get out more. She went swimming, to fencing classes, helped at the restaurant, and did things with friends occasionally. She'd taken Leli to the beach and the renaissance faire and a few bars and dozens of interesting places!

All of this, she brought up, but her mother had retorts and rebuttals for all of them. Just because she'd won Leliana's affection didn't mean the woman didn't deserve to be spoiled. There was more to keeping a partner happy than saving the world with them. Swimming and fencing were things she did alone, and working at the restaurant didn't count. Seeing friends once a month or so was silly. There was more to do in Miami than those tourist traps!

They were starting to get past simple bickering and moving to heated nastiness. Sydney's skin flushed hot with indignation and anger and...

“You two ever argue exclusively in one language?” Frank, the bar manager, smiled at them as he pulled clean glasses from the bar dishwasher. “Do you even realize you slip in and out of French and English?”

Sydney gratefully focused on the distraction. “Yea. People been telling me for ages. I guess it's like watching Tatiana and her sister go at it.”

First generation Costa Rican-Americans. Both of them were servers at the restaurant, infamous for loud arguments that Janine had strictly forbidden from happening on premises. One more customer complaint, and they were fired and banned from ever returning. Aside from that, they were both great at their jobs, had scores of loyal customers, hard-working team players, and treated Sydney like she didn't have scars. Wonderful people in her book.

“Minus the Spanish part.” Frank chuckled.

“Frank, weren't you asking for a few days off next month?” Janine asked sweetly.

He paused his motions, features pinching at the unsaid threat.

“ _Maman_ , leave him alone and I'll take Leli to the damn museum tomorrow.” Sydney growled.

Her mother cast her gaze over her. “ _Bien sûr_ . Send me pictures.”

“Okay. Pictures too. Frank,” she begged. “Get me a shot of w-”

“And you will drink less too.” Janine's expression was tight.

Sydney grit her teeth. “Fine.”

Her mother's smile shifted in a way that said she'd been wanting to say that for a while. “Good.”

“Hey, Juan!” Sydney rose, escaping her mother to chat up one of the cooks. “Juan, your sister's a museum nut, right? Where's she like to go?”

 

Leliana hummed a vague response to something that Sydney had said. The contents of the book she was reading was riveting. Historical warfare of Sydney's world, specifically the techniques, weaponry, and strategies used to conquer Florida, the section of country that Sydney lived in. Sydney had bought the book for her at the little shop at the history museum she'd spontaneously taken Leliana to. Leliana was particularly interested in the weapons called guns and cannons. And gunpowder.

Explosive black powder teasingly similar to that which the Qunari possessed and refused to share the recipe for. She was determined to learn everything this world had to offer on the subject.

“We need to go dress shopping.” Sydney repeated. She was dressed and groomed and smiling.

Leliana's interest was fully wrenched from her study. “Dress shopping? Now?”

“I suppose I could leave you here to read.” Nonchalant, the woman shrugged.

She narrowed her eyes. What was Sydney about today? “I rather plainly recall you refusing to ask Lord Grosvenor for additional clothing funds.” Despite the obscene amount of clothing Sydney herself had, that apparently even the poorest of commoners could boast. A clean outfit for every day of week and _more_. Incredible.

Sydney turned away. “This is a special circumstance. I'm leaving in five minutes. Come if you want.”

Hopping up from the couch, Leliana poked at Sydney. “You will give me at least half a candlemark to make myself presentable.”

Sly, she stole the vacated space, propped her legs up on the cushions. “Very well.”

A planned maneuver. Well done, Leliana applauded the manipulation as she darted to the washroom for ablutions and taming of her hair. She tugged at the long ends. Perhaps Sydney could trim it for her later. Yes, she would inquire about Sydney's skill with scissors after dress shopping.

Leliana washed herself and chose a simple dress made from a soft, light fabric. Roses in various colors were inked throughout it. Lovely and perfect for the heat of Miami. By Andraste, it was worse than the broiling insides of a blacksmith's shop in summer. But this was where Sydney called home, and Leliana would learn to endure. She frowned at a headache forming, drank some cold water, and presented herself ready for a public appearance.

Sydney gave her a cheery kiss before guiding her from home to street, into a cab that reeked of strong incense, and to a massive building twice the size of Redcliff Castle full of nothing but shops and merchant stalls. In front of them was a store filled with structured clothing. Quality materials, fine detailing, proper seams. These were the clothes of the wealthy, the powerful, the socialites. This was not Sydney's normal attire. Even in Thedas, she had not flaunted the wealth that the Inquisition and its benefactors wanted her to unless it was enchanted leathers and fine knives. Why now?

“Pick whatever you want.” Sydney offered.

Old habits from her days as a dancer in the Great Game positively _squealed_ in delight. “What is the occasion?”

“A surprise,” was the breezy reply. She ambled into the store, eyes drifting over the goods, meeting those of a perfectly manicured employee.

“What can I help you with?” The employee smiled thinly. Her haughty revulsion at Sydney's scarred appearance wasn't even masked.

It was barely a twitch, but it was obvious to Leliana that Sydney felt the revulsion physically. Leliana's fists curled. How dare-

“You can please tell me there is someone less offensive to help me with my shopping before I get you fired.” Sydney replied politely. Leliana cheered as the employee's face widened in humiliation. Sydney would hate to hear it, yet she was just like her mother when it came to getting her way.

“I-I-I'm sorry. Y-yes.” She stuttered, half twisted, stopped to add, “One minute.” And dashed off behind a door.

Hushed whispers drifted out, followed by another perfectly manicured employee, this one male and wearing an apologetic smile. He too was startled by the scarring, but the crude shallowness of his colleague was absent. “Good afternoon, ladies. I apologize for my colleague's behavior, and I hope that I can help make your day better.” Carefully chosen wording, effortless delivery, and confident eye contact marked the man as a gentleman, an experienced merchant. “My name is Jao, manager of this store.”

Sydney's stance relaxed. “Thank you Jao. My girlfriend and I need evening attire.”

Jao's regard slid to Leliana, and he politely returned her 'society' smile. “May I ask what the occasion is so I know what best to offer?”

“It's a surprise for her.”

She couldn't help the pout, and Sydney chuckled at it. Jao's smile warmed. He pressed, “Perhaps a hint? Will it be in the air conditioning? Out in the heat? Aboard a ship in the wind?”

Consideration on Sydney's part made Leliana shift anxiously. She wanted details! The mischief in Sydney's eyes was cruel, and the bard in her knew that Sydney wasn't going to give anything away. “Sydney, _mon amour_ , do not be cruel.”

Teeth showed in her pleased smile. “Why don't you just help Leliana pick out a few gowns? I'll come back when she's not around and pay for the most appropriate.”

“And for yourself?” Jao was struggling not to laugh.

“I guess my outfit will have to wait for then too.” Sydney was enjoying Leliana's discomfort far too much. “Is there a chair?”

Jao graciously indicated a soft bench by the fitting rooms. “May I get you a coffee or water while you wait?”

From the bench she had already made her way to, Sydney called back, “Coffee.”

“I'll have Karen get you something from Starbucks.” Leliana was smiled at. “And for you?”

Frowning at Sydney, who didn't flinch, “Water, please.”

While Jao got details of the beverage Sydney wanted then vanished into the back for a minute, she purposely put her back to Sydney and dove into the clothing racks. She did glance back when the little door opened again. Karen scurried from the store, and Jao found Leliana. He offered one of those amazingly clear unbreakable bottles of pure water while asking what styles she wanted to look at first.

They were hip-deep in sparkling dresses when Karen came back through, her hands full of coffees. Almost fearfully, she presented one to Sydney and repeated the order. Sydney didn't make her wait as Leliana would have as punishment. She accepted the cup with a 'thank you.'

“You can leave mine in the office, Karen.” Jao called, allowing the woman to hide again. He scooted Leliana into a fitting room with half a dozen dresses. “Don't forget to come out and model for us.”

Through the generous velvet curtain, Jao's voice easily pierced. Leliana lit up with the idea of modeling for Sydney. It would be a good deal of fun to watch the woman squirm while Leliana posed scandalously.

“Your girlfriend isn't fond of surprises, is she?” Jao was asking.

Sydney snorted. “More like, it's really difficult to surprise her. Secrets are kind of her job.”

“It sounds like a lot of effort is needed to do something special without her finding out too soon.”

The zipper of the dress paused halfway up. It did take a lot of effort, even in a place where Leliana did not have spies in every shadow. She finished pulling the zipper into place and stepped out. “Sydney is better at it than she has any right to be.” Despite her effort otherwise, her complaint came out on the pouting side.

Sydney's eyes appreciated the form-fitting, ankle-length gown of vivid red silk. Leliana gave a display, walking forward then away, posing several angles. She swept back into the fitting room.

“I should do this more often,” was whispered at Jao. He chuckled.

A skin revealing affair of emerald silk was tugged into place. Skirt ending above her knees, no back, low front, and thin straps holding the wispy thing up. With energy, she flounced out. Her attention was naturally focused on her lover's darkening eyes, but she did catch Jao's reaction to her own brutal scars. He stood a tiny bit straighter, the skin around his eyes and mouth tightening,and Leliana was reminded of how soft Sydney's world was.

The next dress would be the cobalt one. It had little stones in a waterfall-esque pattern from hip to floor seam. They would flash wonderfully in the right lighting.

“How did you two meet?” Jao asked.

Sydney chuckled. “I kind of stumbled into Leli's path.” She dropped her voice to a loud whisper that Leliana clearly heard. “I had secrets that she didn't know, and it drove her nuts.”

Jao chuckled with her. “May I ask what you do for a living?”

“Before the accident...”

Accident, Leliana scoffed. Before the battle with Nightmare. This world would never know of the legendary hero that it had birthed. Sydney's courage was wasted on these spoiled people.

“I was manager of a cruise ship bar.”

“She makes the best margaritas.” Leliana announced as she dramatically _swooshed_ the curtain back. She slunk along in the heavy fabric, made sure her hips rolled. Sydney shifted in her seat. These dress styles were a far cry from the bustling skirts and tight corsets of the Orlesian court, more like something one would find in the seedier sections of Antiva or Rivain. Leliana reveled in their sensuous closeness. She especially liked the long slit exposing her thigh.

Sydney muttered to Jao, “Maybe I should have sent her here alone.”

He angled a smile at her. “She does seem intent on torturing you.”

That was far too forward of him, more appropriate of a tavern keeper than a respectable merchant! But Sydney laughed and agreed with him. “Careful, Jao. She's apt to turn on you next.”

His neck flushed, though he bravely met Leliana's stare. She gave him a wicked grin. He swallowed throatily, and his blush spread up to his ears. Pleased, she returned for another emerald dress in a style similar to the long cobalt.

“How long have you been together? Is this for an anniversary?”

Too long of quiet ensued. Leliana herself was caught up in the idea. She stepped out of the fitting room before there was an answer.

“Officially?” Sydney spoke as their gazes met. “A little over a week.”

“Congratulations,” Jao smoothed. “My wife and I just celebrated our third anniversary last week.”

Again behind the curtain, Leliana was taken with thoughts of Sydney in the future, what it would be like to grow old with her. In this world, growing old and gray was a good possibility. But if they somehow returned to the battle in Thedas, they would be lucky to survive a few more months. Subdued, she continued trying on dresses and modeling for Sydney, but her heart was no longer in the teasing. Sydney noticed. Jao likely noticed. They let him carry the conversation, talking about his wife, their crawling baby, the home they wanted to buy.

It wasn't until all of the dresses were tried on that Sydney asked Jao to hold them for her to come back the next morning. Leliana squealed in sudden delight at what came next.

Hand over her heart, Sydney stared at her, “What?”

“Shoes,” cooed out of her.

While Sydney rolled her eyes and snorted, Jao relaxed into mild laughter. “ _Le Soir_ has a fantastic selection, if you didn't already have a destination in mind. Jacqueline is a friend of mine. I'd be happy to escort you over there and introduce you.”

 

Sweat trailed Sydney's spine from more than Miami heat. She gasped and turned her lips from Leliana's to take a needed breath. “Maybe now is,” she sucked in the cool air of the apartment, “A good time to talk about personal needs and stuff.”

Hands stopped exploring. Hips stilled. Lips gently touched her jaw. “ _Parlons-en._ ” Leliana retreated from where she had Sydney pinned against the wall. “Water?”

“Y-yea.” Sydney gathered herself, listened to glasses and ice clink as she stumbled to the couch.

Coasters were placed at their knees and glasses upon them. Leliana settled close, but gave Sydney some inches of space. Sydney smiled at the refrain from using physical contact that could sway her words. She sipped at the icy water and tried to gather a way to start the uncomfortable conversation.

“I do not mean to derail your thoughts, but do you have a potion for headache?” Leliana asked softly. “I cannot seem to shake it.”

Immediately concerned, because Leliana didn't whine about pain, Sydney studied her. “Too much heat?”

“Possibly.”

Sydney mentally cataloged the vast collection of painkillers in her cabinet. She went through a few questions to narrow down what would be best, decided it wasn't a sinus thing, but couldn't narrow it down much more. Because this was Leliana, from a different world, Sydney carefully read the warning label on her aspirin bottle, noted the time, and made sure her phone was nearby for 911, just in case. Ever since the blueberries that Leli thankfully wasn't allergic to, Sydney had been meticulously careful about what she offered. Thedas food and medicine and magic hadn't killed her. That helped keep her from overthinking it too much, but she would be careful anyway.

“Here.” A white pill sat in her palm. “Wash it down with water. It should start helping in half a candlemark.”

“ _Merci, mon petit poisson_ .”

Sydney rolled her eyes at the pet name that Leliana was obsessed with and resettled to the couch. She waited until the pill was swallowed before blurting out, “I never want to be spanked.”

Leliana nearly choked anyway.

Embarrassed, Sydney buried her face in her hands. “Sex stuff. Spanking and whipping and that kind of power play stuff weirds me out. So do feet. Don't ever ask me to lick feet.”

“I have never enjoyed being the mistress with a whip.” Leliana's voice was amused. “Nor going deep into the rear entrance. That scent is remarkably difficult to be rid of. I do,” her tone softened, “Enjoy being restrained with silk ties.”

Sydney peeked between her fingers.

“Though I have trusted few to allow that.”

“I don't like doing it on the beach, because sand gets everywhere, but out in the water is totally cool.”

“Sand,” Leliana sneered, “Is not something I wish between my cheeks. We are agreed on this.”

All of it?

Eyes sparkling, Leliana's tongue darted out to lick her lips. “As well as enjoying a frolic in the water.”

“When people might catch us?” was Sydney's hesitantly hopeful question.

She chuckled devilishly. “Let them watch.”

The conversation went far more smoothly from there. Sydney found herself both incredibly aroused and relieved and awed. There were some things they did not agree on, and that was okay, because mostly they were in accord and both would respect the other in the bedroom.

Or out of it.

Sydney swallowed at the thought of Leliana taking her in the waves. She looked over to Leliana, prepared to draw her into another make-out session, perhaps more. The expression waiting there redirected the heat of desire to throb in her chest instead of her groin. Had anyone ever looked at her that adoringly before? Sydney smiled and pulled Leliana's hands into her own, tenderly kissed them, announced that she would start dinner, and returned the hands to Leliana's lap.

She was washing mushrooms when arms wrapped around her waist. Proclamations of love whispered across her neck as Leliana's body warmed her back. Sydney straightened from her washing hunch, and a kiss pressed to the tender skin behind her ear.

This was real.

Sydney surrendered, smiling, relaxing, accepting. Leliana had come for her. She was _real._ That meant the nightmares were too, but so were the best dreams. Sydney was okay with that. This moment was worth it. The promise of future moments. Free, wonderful laughter bubbled up, and she held Leliana's hands tight to her stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Parlons-en – let's talk  
> Bien sûr – of course


	27. Duality

“ _Oh, yes. I love your songs. Sometimes I'd sit up on the chair to take a better look at... your songs... the Chargers have their own song if you'd like to hear it...”_

_-Cremisius “Krem” Aclassi to one of Skyhold's minstrels_

* * *

 

 

Leliana found a good deal of delight and frustration in equal measure as she and Sydney learned more of each other, of how to court each other, live with each other. Long conversation and debate led them to turn down a private apartment for Leliana. Pride and sensibility did not want to push their patron's generosity. Who knew what more they might have to ask of him in the future? Better to save his favor for another day.

Simplicity and practicality argued for a single shared living space. Shared duties with meals and housekeeping were easier, especially as Sydney had to teach Leliana much about housekeeping. It was both exactly the same, yet enormously different than in Thedas. Leliana nearly lost her hand reaching down the drain of the kitchen sink. A bitter fight ensued after. Sydney needed to warn about things such as that bladed disposer contraption lurking in the drain! Maker, the noise that thing made! And how easily it turned anything into sludge. She shivered whenever she thought of it, of what it could have done to her hand. Maker, no amount of magic could have healed her!

Everything about living with Sydney seemed to share this duality of frustrating yet rewarding. Sharing a bed with Sydney was positively the champion of that sentiment. On the one hand, she had to share private space, wake up in fright at unexpected touch, argue over the amount of blanket or movement or noises or light. On the other hand...

Leliana sighed dreamily. Spending hours curled close, able to fall asleep wrapped up in each other and wake to the same, sharing kisses and intimate touches at their leisure was  _ exquisite. _ Every difficult argument, every embarrassing moment, every hair-pulling change in routine was worth being at Sydney's side.

They found ways to get through the frustrations. Returning to the habit of dawn training helped immensely. It was both an excellent beginning to each day and the only time of day Leliana could exert herself in the tropical heat of Miami with the fine exception of swimming. Upon the rooftop, where they were witnesses to the golden swath of morning light replacing the twinkle of artificial torches, they could unleash their frustrations in a healthy manner, often end their exercises with laughter or conversation or passionate kisses. Leliana heartily approved of all three endings.

She giggled at her musings like a small girl. Whatever would the powers of Thedas think of a giggling Nightingale, free of underhanded intentions and motives, acting out of joy and love? They would either never believe it or think it was her lover who was planning the next assassination. And the nobles of Orlais would be aghast at the way Leliana was allowing her skin to change under the sun like the commoner she truly was. Freckles streaked her nose and cheeks and shoulders. Sydney loved tracing them and kissing them and telling Leliana how adorable she found them.

All this was tainted by headaches that only seemed to grow worse, of a weakness that persisted no matter how much sleep or food Leliana got. She had not noticed them in the first days. Some weeks into living in Miami, and Leliana found few ways to subdue them. Medicines that Sydney provided helped little. Alcohol made them worse. The best way to get through them was distraction, by making music, taking walks, reading, making love, oh yes, making love was absolutely her favorite way.

Sydney was a delicate, gentle lover, prone to submission and the most delicious sounds. She could also be an exquisitely torturous mistress of teasing. Having far less experience and training than Leliana did not keep her from being a quick study and natural talent. Perhaps some of her talent lay in the simple notion that Leliana felt each of Sydney's actions and whispers more keenly than she had with any other lover. Even Marjolaine.

The memory of Marjolaine and the prison guards sometimes spoiled their lovemaking sessions, but sometimes they made them more poignant. Leliana had barely to breathe a request to stop or change for Sydney to oblige. Every time, Leliana felt herself falling more in love with her honorable knight. It would seem too perfect to be true if Sydney didn't have immeasurably frustrating vices. Brash behavior, tendency to over drink, hate for her scars and cane and singing voice.

At least Sydney would sing around Leliana now. Usually only after several drinks and with Josiah around, but it was something. Smiling, Leliana hummed a song that Josiah had roped Sydney into singing with him, a delightful melody about sharing a new world. _A whole new world_. The reasons that Sydney blushed and the rest of the tavern goers had laughed remained a vague idea to Leliana, much like many culture references she encountered. She focused on how lovely the two friends were together. Their duets had the feel of long rehearsal, their voices blending well despite the sometimes off-key notes and drunken slurs.

People on the sidewalk gave Leliana sideways looks as she hummed her way past them. At the end of her second month in Miami, Leliana had chosen to let her inner child rule her day, to provide distraction from the headaches and simply enjoy the adventure of facing Sydney's world without her guidance. Leliana had spent her day wandering, nibbling street foods, watching the diverse crowds of peoples, fending off admirers.

The natives' fascination with her accent was absurdly amusing. Fereldens generally gave Orlesians wide berth, suspicious glares, if not outright hostility. These Americans had this romantic attachment to all things French, which Leliana was thought of. Lady Nelson had an overwhelming amount of stories pertaining to the notion. Strangers fawning over her accent even as it faded with her years spent in this country vexed her daily. Leliana and Lady Nelson often commiserated over the problem when they weren't talking about Sydney.

After properly reintroducing herself to Sydney's mother, Leliana had found the woman to be relaxing, a wonderful mentor and friend. Lady Nelson, for Leliana would always give her that respect in her mind though the lady preferred to be addressed as Janine, had immediately taken Leliana under her tutelage. Her assistance had many motives: the need to help her daughter, the kindness of her heart, curiosity, and also to take her measure of Leliana.

Josiah's motives for getting close to Leliana were nearly identical. It was quite a relief to discover that though he often flirted with and leered at Sydney's body, he held no more than brotherly affection for her. He reminded Leliana of Zevran. Both men were pretty, flirtatious creatures, prone to casual sex and sharing tales of it to hide their deeply passionate nature and need for attachment. Fiercely loyal, protective, and endearing once their respect and trust was earned.

Leliana paused to smile at the experiences she'd found in Sydney's world. Strange as it was, under the surface it was just like Thedas. She shook her head and cast her gaze about, taking in her surroundings to orient herself. The beach. Her feet had taken her to where she'd first arrived.  
The possible doorway between worlds. The waypoint as she had come to call it.

“There was no word for heaven or for earth, for sea or sky.” Leliana whispered from the Chant of Light. Threnodies 5:1, of the Maker's first creations. This world had similar creation stories and similar theology. Could the Maker be the same as this world's Elohim? Allah? It was a fascinating topic, and it made her wish for a friend from Thedas to discuss it with.

A pang tightened her chest. How much Justinia would have loved to debate the Maker's incarnations across the worlds. Leliana smiled, bittersweet. Perhaps someday, she could bring the discussion to Mother Giselle and Cassandra, who would enjoy it almost as much.

 

Weeks under Leliana's sharp blade had returned Sydney to battle-ready sharpness. At least, as ready as her crippled body could be. Almost. Leliana said there was room yet for improvement. Should they return to Thedas where these skills would be needed, mage healers could improve Sydney's strength and agility, not much, she would never offer such false hope, but some.

Another dawn session ended with Sydney managing to slip under Leliana's guard and tapping her neck with the practice sword.

Leliana smiled at the defeat. “My love, you never cease to amaze me.”

Sydney found a bench on their rooftop gym to collapse to. “Go me.”

Gracefully, Leliana settled beside her. Sydney watched with envy while rubbing her aching leg. Blue eyes tracked her motions. “Sydney, I have known warriors of sounder, stronger, more powerful bodies who would not last three moves against you.”

“I'll never be that strong again,” snorted from her.

“You may never regain the strength to challenge Cullen, this is true.” Quiet passion filled the air. “But strength is but a small part of what makes a warrior great. Skill, intelligence, bravery,” she paused to offer a slow smile. “And sheer determination to live are just as important.” She leaned close until her lips touched Sydney's cheek. “And your determination to live is as fierce as any dragon's.”

Sydney felt herself smiling, agreeing. Her own hand drifted to her other thigh where rock tiger claws had ripped her open so long ago. Memory relived the poisonous burn and terror of that night. Her first battle. The first touch of magic. Andraste's first words to her.

White fire flickered in her mind's eye, tickled her palms, seared her veins. Would she wield that kind of power again? Could she handle it? Would it obey? Did she  _ want _ it?

“My sweet knight.” Leliana murmured and kissed her jaw. “My brave love.”

Sydney rolled her eyes. “Bards and their flowery words.”

The kisses paused, and Leliana withdrew.

Worried she'd insulted Leli or hurt her feelings, Sydney's hand darted out to grab at her. “I'm sorry. I like your poetry.”

Unworried laughter responded. “Good. I hope that extends to my lyrics as well.” And Leliana drew in a breath and sang.

Shock rooted Sydney in place, rendered her unable to grasp the words dancing in the air. Sweet melody caught her in its spell until the sparkle of the ocean distracted her. Leliana's eyes. They twinkled at Sydney through the swell and fall of the ballad, and she did not notice the song ending.

“You appear struck as though by lightning.” Leliana commented. “Or perhaps by the blunt end of Cassandra's sword.”

Sydney breathed, “You sang to me.”

Her answering smile was shy and beautiful. “I did.”

Sydney gaped. Leliana had sung before, learning new songs, joining Sydney and Josiah in silliness while cooking or over drinks, but nothing like this. Leliana had never belted out a ballad like that with Sydney as her only audience. “You sang  _ for _ me.”

Hands tightened on hers. “Yes.”

“What was that song? I've never heard it before.” She realized. “Or haven't I remembered it yet?”

Leli ducked her head. “You are the first to hear it. I waited to serenade you until it was ready.”

What did that mean? “What?”

“It is a song of my crafting.” Leli peered up through her hair. “Though I performed the second iteration which I wrote here in your world.” Her chin lifted. “Did you not hear the words?”

“Um.” Words? “No.”

“Oh.” Soft giggles poured out. “Did I startle you so? I suppose it's fair. Few have heard me give such a performance since the Warden's funeral.”

Wow. Sydney couldn't get beyond the concept that Leliana had given Sydney a private performance of a song that Leliana had written herself. “Damn. I knew you were talented, but... Wow.”

“I think that I might be persuaded to give encore performances in the future.” Flushed lips curled to smile at her. Eyelashes batted. “If one has the proper leverage.”

“Leverage?” Sydney drawled. She found a spurt of energy to roll her hips up and over Leliana's, straddling her, pinning her to the bench. “I'll show you leverage,” muttered as she claimed willing lips.

 

Worry had become a constant companion for Sydney. Leliana's headaches had quickly gone from mildly annoying to decidedly painful, heading toward debilitating migraines. James was contacted and a doctor appointment gone to. The doctor, then the specialist were clueless. Sydney had a terrible guess that it was something about her world itself.

Maybe the lack of magic. Maybe the haze of air pollution. Maybe the buzz of electricity or radio signals or some other tiny, significant difference.

Those thoughts often led her thoughts to the waypoint at the beach, questioning if it was a two-way door, wondering if taking Leli home was the answer. Worst-case scenario: sending her home alone. Sydney's heart flipped. Bile rose. Leliana would never agree to that. She would suffer the migraines long before she'd allow them to be separated like that. It was both swooningly romantic and heartbreaking.

Either way, the problem remained of  _ how _ . How to open the doorway?

The problems after could wait.

That's what she told herself, but Josiah wouldn't let her not think about it. During a dinner with him and Leliana, he brought up the plot issues of  _ Dragon Age 4 _ yet again, asked Leliana's thoughts about it in regards to a possible return to Thedas. 

Her surprising response was a shrug. “There is always some new evil to fight.”

“But?” Joze gaped.

“Of course, I have been learning everything about my world and its future and past that I can, but as the games themselves show, choices and divergent stories are a fact of life. How much would my life be different if Warden Cousland had refused my company, or Sten's or Wynne's, on his quest?” Her mouth remained open as though to continue. She instead rubbed at her temples, and sighed, “Void take these headaches.”

Josiah leaned forward in his chair. “Nothing's helping them?”

Leliana groaned a response.

“Is it like Syd's thing with demons?” He asked.

“Possibly.”

“That's what I'm afraid of,” was Sydney's unhappy drawl.

His handsome face creased, hands tightening together. “If they are, you can't stay here.”

“If that's even an option.” Sydney growled.

“From what you've said,” Joze pressed, “Everything that's been made canon here could be totally irrelevant once you get back. It's not like the game had cultists attack Skyhold and get turned to dust by a wandering bartender. And that means there's another way to get you back there other than waiting on divine intervention.”

He's been thinking too hard about this, Sydney grumbled. He'll cry like a baby if going back became a thing.

 

A week later, a quaint, busy coffee shop welcomed Leliana and Josiah for the discreet meeting she had asked him for. It bustled with patrons and workers and seagulls darting around the outdoor tables, hunting for bits of dropped snacks. Unpleasant creatures. Leliana scowled at the noisome birds. They made her head hurt almost as much as blaring car horns.

“Josiah.” Leliana steadied herself. “I would know the customs of proposal and marriage that Sydney and her mother honor.”

Coffee spewed from his nose a great many feet, covered patrons at the table next to theirs, caused an uproar that ended with the two of them paying for that table's drinks and their own barely touched coffees before they made a hasty exit.

“You couldn't have waited half a minute before dropping that shit on me?” He groused as they walked away.

Leliana debated accepting responsibility and thrusting it on him for not being prepared for the obvious. “My apologies.” Josephine would be proud of the diplomacy. “But I expected my future interest in Sydney to be obvious,” exasperation won.

Josiah glanced at her, frowned. He brushed at the stain on his shirt. “Yea. Well. Marriage isn't something I ever expected out of Sydney.”

“Whyever not?” Hands and feet stopped. Leliana turned to face him. “Why would you never expect Sydney to want a partner in life?”

His hands went to his sides. “One, because marriage between two women was illegal in this country until recently.”

Shock slapped her. “Why?” she demanded. Excepting that unpleasant couple on the beach who had started a fight they couldn't win, most seemed warm or indifferent toward Leliana and Sydney's romance. She had assumed those feelings prevailed in this culture.

“Because the powers in charge, mostly religious assholes, thought same sex relations was a sin.”

“But,” she flailed. “But the Maker created in us an infinite capacity for love. Why would He give His children this if He did not intend for us to find it?”

“The Chantry doesn't exist here.”

“I have studied the religions of this world, and though I could spend a lifetime learning all there is to know of them, it is easy to see that we worship the same god.”

Anger was etching his face. “And how do you explain Tevinter? They have the Chantry, but they don't let men like Dorian marry men.”

“Because he is a noble, a magister, and their culture wishes to breed the most powerful mages possible. Dorian welcoming men to his bed would be given a blind eye as long as he produced heirs. Their way is cruel, but s-”

“And Krem? Why was he treated like a wet sack of shit for joining the army?”

Krem? She had to search her mind for the name. Ah. One of the Iron Bull's men, a good warrior, attractive, a bit short, even when not standing next to his leader. And female of body. Tevinter forbid women from joining the ranks of warriors sent to battle.

Josiah's clenched fists shook. “Power, Leliana. Women who have no interest in men and their households are more difficult to control. Women who act like men challenge the concept of masculinity that straight men hold so fucking dear.”

Straight. Leliana spat on the term. As though preferring anything but the opposite sex was crooked or misdirected. She had heard the term used many times before, but only now began to understand the full import of its use.

“And people like us, who like both, we're just confused troublemakers.” He growled.

She hadn't felt particularly homesick these many weeks, but it was striking her hard, fast, painfully. To grow up in a culture that deemed love a sin... Her head throbbed.

Maker, give me strength, she prayed.

Angry sentinels, they stood trembling. Josiah recovered first. He drew in a deep breath and pushed it out. “And Syd's never had a serious relationship. I guess I thought no one would ever be good enough for her or something. And now,” his shoulders locked. “Now, you're talking about proposing to Syd while she's looking into a way to get you home, because of your headaches. I might not even get to be part of your wedding.”

It struck her funny how Sydney and Josiah were so much alike, yet polar opposites. Sydney rarely showed the kind of vulnerable sadness that Josiah was currently displaying, never among strangers. Leliana smiled softly. She stepped close, gathered the man in her arms, kissed his cheek. “Sydney is blessed to have a friend who loves her this much.”

He sagged into the embrace. “She ever talk to you about whether she believes in your Maker?”

The abrupt way he switched topics had Leliana giving it ample thought. No. Such a conversation had never happened. Why was he concerned? Should she be? Sydney had no doubts about Andraste, couldn't. She herself had admitted that Andraste guided her, talked to her. But that did not mean she believed in or honored the Maker. That...

That had never occurred to Leliana.

“Why?” She asked softly.

Josiah sighed. “I know how devout you are. I've seen you pray and heard Sydney's stories about you. I don't want to assume about what you need in a partner, but you two might want to have that talk.”

They slid apart, both of them pensive. Leliana nodded. “I thank you for your thoughts.”

Shoulders sagged with relief. “Yea. Okay, about your earlier question. Proposing to Syd.” A worried beat. “If that's still a thing?”

Whyever would she not want to? “Whatever her beliefs about the Maker, I would yet love her.”

“Oh good.”

“I wish to see her my wife.” Leliana smiled softly. “Not the next Divine.”

He rubbed his neck. “That just got real as fuck. Okay. If you ask her mother first, Syd will kill you. If you ask Syd first, then her mother, Syd will kill you. Asking anyone if they approve of you marrying Syd won't end well for you.”

Leliana's selfish nature and peasant beginnings sang at the freedom of what he was suggesting. Her time playing the Game, the respect drilled into her by the nobility, was aghast. How could she not ask the head of house's permission to marry their daughter? Janine would not deny them. She approved of their pairing. But Josiah was right. Sydney would be insulted and enraged if Leliana asked her mother for permission.

“We would not be able to hide it from Lady Nelson.” She frowned.

Josiah snorted. “No one said hide it. Propose to Syd in private, then both of you can tell Janine. Make it a big thing that gets her crying in front of everybody.” He chuckled. “I will so record it.”

“And what of the customs she follows?”

A large hand waved that off. “Aside from you getting down on one knee and presenting her a ring, she couldn't care less. There are some stupid wedding traditions she might like to follow, but nothing serious. Ah. Can I go ring shopping with you?”

Ring shopping? Nug shit. She had not the funds for this. Lord Grosvenor would be accommodating, surely, but did she want to spill her plans to him?

“I'll pay, and we'll call it my wedding present.”

That was reasonable. But, “Our travels between worlds seem to divest us of our material possessions. I would hate to get her something special that would have to be left behind.”

His expression fell. A frown quickly dispersed it, replaced it with focused determination. “Fuck it. I'll keep it safe until you guys visit.”

Leliana sighed and rubbed her temples. Her day's headache was gaining a solid foothold, destroying her focus, stealing her patience. “Let us talk of this later.” She had no wish to ponder unpleasant conundrums.

Medicine was offered, and Josiah escorted Leliana to Sydney's apartment. Mutters were exchanged between the friends about Leliana's headache as she bitterly closed curtains for the minor relief from hard sunlight and huddled on the couch. She was well and deep into her misery when a soft touch stroked her brow. Cold water was set close. Neither helped much with the pain. Still, they both brought a smile to Leliana. Her lovely knight's presence was reassuring, and she gratefully sank her head to Sydney's lap. She vaguely noted that Josiah was gone.

“Want some music?” Gentle concern offered. Sydney's eyes were dark with worry.

“Will you sing for me?” Leliana asked without thinking and mentally flogged herself at Sydney's stiffened posture.

Shock had her gaping when soft notes fell, an old Ferelden song popular among travelers and the weary. It was a promise of safety, of a warm hearth, of good crops and fat babies. Leliana's mother had hummed it to her many times. Comfort wrapped around her, warming her soul, sweetening her smile. Sydney was setting aside her self-doubt to sing for Leliana. What more could she ask for in a spouse?

Leliana took up one of Sydney's hands, traced its lines, played with the fingers. The one meant for a ring of marriage was memorized and compared to Leliana's own. It matched her forefinger. She decided to take Josiah up on his offer to go shopping for a ring. The rush of excitement and emotions nearly pushed back the headache, and she smiled, holding Sydney's hand to her heart, dreaming of the day they would exchange vows.

 

 


	28. Waypoint

 “ _What was Mythal? A legend given name and called a god? Or something more? Truth is not the end, but a beginning.”_

_-Flemeth, Witch of the Wilds_

* * *

 

 

The weather was shifting. Not much. Clearly. Miami pretty much experienced one season: summer. Okay. Two. Summer and hurricane season. Hurricane season was coming. Last week had been windy and rainy, and a nasty little storm had hit Grenada and the other Caribbean islands around it. Sydney was on a mission to go swimming every day instead of every other day like normal. One good storm could ruin the beach and her swim-time for weeks. She dragged Leliana out right after lunch.

On the bus ride, Sydney noticed Leli was more withdrawn than usual, realized that she'd been acting a little weird all morning, her hands restless and fidgety. Was she worried about something? Other than the doctor appointment they'd gone to yesterday? The one that hadn't given any more clues to the headaches despite the series of expensive tests that she'd been subjected to. Sydney growled. Last night Leli had barely been able to eat let alone feel human.

Fucking migraines.

She looked at Leliana, who met her eye and took an abruptly deep breath, held it.

What was that about? “Leli?”

Her hands wrung together. “Do you believe in the Maker?”

The ground rose up under Sydney's feet, tripping her, making her grab at a stranger for balance. “Sorry.” She wheezed at the startled woman. “Leg cramp,” was her lame excuse. The stranger hurried on, and Sydney glared at the smooth pavement of the sidewalk.

“Sydney?”

She brought her gaze up to an anxious Leliana. “Joze talked to you, didn't he?”

Leli bit her lip and nodded.

Sighing, Sydney accepted that and continued walking. “Figured he'd get to it before I did.”

“He spoke with you as well?”

“He's meddlesome like that,” was her affectionate grumble.

They walked on in quiet until Leliana cut in front of her, halting their progress, creating an island in the crowd. “Sydney.” Her hands weren't wringing. They were on her hips, and determination was on her face.

“Couldn't you have brought this up after a couple glasses of wine?” she complained.

“I would prefer a sober discussion.”

Damn. “Have I mentioned how much this new hairdo suits you?” Sydney chose a different topic. Scissors and trimming had been entrusted to Sydney, and she'd accidentally messed up a stupid simple straight cut. Maybe not so accidentally. The hairdresser had turned the butchered bob into a flattering shag. Or was it a pixie style? Sydney had always paid more attention to makeup and tattoos than hair. Whatever. Leli looked amazing with the closely cropped layers and bangs, exposing cute ears and long neck. Next on Sydney's fantasy list was getting those ears pierced. A couple loops would...

“Sydney,” was said in a tone that didn't appreciate Sydney's unsubtle attempt at distraction.

“I don't want to talk about this, Leli.” She whined. “I've thought and thought about it. I mean, I'm fairly certain there was some divine intervention about me being dropped in the Frostbacks and having a helpful voice keep me from getting killed, but...” She twisted her cane. “I don't think I believe in one all-powerful god and creation and all that.”

“Sydney,” was softly drawn out.

“Would you stop saying my name?” Sydney huffed.

“Sydney.”

Irritated, she snapped her head up to fight, and the words died on her tongue.

Leliana's expression was delicate and lovely. “Sydney, my love. I only wanted us to speak of this to clear the air. I do not require your belief and devotion to the Maker for me to love you and want you at my side.”

“You don't?” asked the worry she'd been afraid to voice.

“I only require that you remember  _ I _ am a devoted believer, and I will always believe that He brought us together.” She touched Sydney's wrist and allowed them to keep walking.

Sydney wobbled, feet sliding in the dry sand at the bottom of the stairs. The beach was crowded as ever. “I'm pretty sure Joze wanted me to tell you how much I thought organized religion was bullshit.” She anxiously watched Leliana consider that.

“Why?”

“Have you read the Chantry's history? I know you read about the Christian Crusades last week. All that hatred and violence spread in the name of their god.” Old anger was rising hot and heavy in her chest. She clamped her lips before a lifetime of hatred at misogynistic, hypocritical, backwards organizations vomited darkness everywhere. Okay, the Chantry couldn't be called misogynistic what with _all_ of their positions of power filled by women, but that didn't excuse the Catholic Church or any of the others of her world.

Leliana nodded, frustratingly calm. “Yes. Corruption is inevitable in any organization that grows large and powerful. But,” calm was edged with seriousness, “Remember that for every bloody Crusade, there are people like Divine Justinia and Mother Theresa. Without their organized religion, they would never have been as effective as they were in spreading peace and love and hope to their people.”

“You aren't mad or disappointed in me?”

“No,” was Leli's easy response. “In fact, I am gladdened by this open discussion. Such things left unsaid could have festered and grown painful like some untended wound to poison our relationship.”

Sydney couldn't help rolling her eyes. “You and your damn logic.”

“We are a good balance for each other.”

“You just want me to make apple pie again,” switched the topic to something safer, less stressful.

Sea blue eyes twinkled at her. “I would not complain.”

“Good, because I love you and would rather make apple pies all week than talk about religion.”

“What about taking me to another orchestra performance?” Leliana cooed. “Aside from the music, I rather enjoyed parading you about in that lovely outfit.”

Sydney flushed at the memory of Leliana's constant stare that night. And her own. Leliana in that flowing gown, with gold heels and matching jewelry, the way she'd let Sydney do her makeup...

Leliana could rock any outfit. There was no question about that. Leliana in an outfit that made her feel like a queen was on a level all to itself. She'd flat out _glowed_.

Then there was the memory of kissing Leliana in heels, the way she'd tilted her head down, her poise of being the taller, more powerful woman. The heat in Sydney's cheeks shot down through her chest and stomach to settle right between her legs. Encore please. “Yea. Totally.”

Teeth gleamed through a bright smile. “You will wear those flowing trousers and that beautiful vest again?”

By beautiful, she also meant revealing, almost risque. No shirt or bra underneath. Only good tailoring kept it from being indecent. Sydney laughed. “Sure.”

“And Sydney, may,” she trailed off, her gaze sliding over her shoulder. “We are being followed once more.”  
Sydney didn't have to look to know. The detectives. Blood and damnation! Couldn't they leave her be? Sydney wished for the Thedas freedom of confronting them, proving herself, or anything! Her fists curled as she stopped.

“It is not worth it.” Leliana soothed.

Sydney managed to note that they'd been talking long enough to have walked a good way down the beach and to the waypoint. “If we were in Ferelden, we'd have dealt with this harassment with swords.”

“Or a finely crafted letter from Josephine.” Leliana agreed. “But these are not options here, my love.”

Anger buzzed in her skull. She didn't crave returning to Thedas often, but this time, oh what she wouldn't give to have a sword strapped to her hip and the power of the Inquisition behind her. The rolling hills of Ferelden and Epona to cross them with. The banter of the Inner Circle as they went on yet another quest. The strange hum in her chest that said she was near a rift.

A little like right now...

Wha-

She couldn't breathe. She couldn't see. She couldn't feel the sand under her feet and hear Leli or the seagulls or the waves. WHAT THE F-

Air rushed into her starving lungs, burning and cold. She gasped and stumbled. Hard ground met her backside, and her cane thudded quietly beside her. Above her loomed a massive doorway made out of intricately carved metal. She blinked. No. It was a huge mirror. Full of fog. She cast about wildly. The whole world was fog. There wasn't a single source of light, no sun or moon or stars or streetlights or anything, just a present light that vaguely lit up the area around her. Shadows danced in the mist at the edges of sight.

Sydney scrambled for her cane and got to her feet. Gooseflesh prickled her bare arms, and she shivered with the chill of the place. Her gaze shot back to the mirror, the softly glowing, swirling fog of its surface. She poked it with her cane. Nothing. She hit it and received a dull  _ clunk _ acknowledging that it was a solid surface.

Panic licked at her thoughts.

This wasn't a mirror.

Her lungs fluttered, and she felt lightheaded.

It was an  _ eluvian _ .

An eluvian that had stolen her away from Leliana. An eluvian that wouldn't send her back no matter how much she begged, cried, or felt along its edges for some impossible key. An eluvian that she eventually resorted to attacking with her cane.

“Open up, you bastard! Send me back!” Sydney raged as she swung at the eluvian over and over, her cane  _ thwacking  _ its unyielding surface.

“Oh yes,” a sharp voice cut through her hysterics. “Attempting to break the ancient portal will get you where you wish to be.”

“Who the...” crazed anger trailed off as the voice's owner appeared from the formless mist.

Yellow eyes glared at her over a disdainful sneer. A simple dark violet dress could easily label her a simple noblewoman, but the gnarled black staff gripped loosely in her hand said otherwise. She was a mage, powerful and dangerous. Sydney knew her.

Morrigan.

“Will you not introduce yourself? 'Tis rather rude.”

“M-morrigan,” stuttered out.

Eyes narrowed, raked over Sydney's figure, and darted to the eluvian. Fingers tightened on the staff. “Sydney?”

Sydney wobbled, lowered the cane yet raised to attack, leaned heavily on it. “That's me. Are we in Thedas or the Fade?”

“This place is neither, but a crossroads between places.” Morrigan's gaze swept the shadows. “You are alone?”

Panic reared its ugly face again. “Yes. That's why I have to get back! Leliana is alone back there.”

A sigh came from Morrigan. “And I take it you do not know how you returned?”

“No!” was her shrill bark. “One second I was bitching about the detective following us and wishing I could get in their faces like I would in Thedas, then I was falling out of this fucking thing.” She gave it a whack of her cane.

“If you break it, there shall be no using it.” Morrigan scolded.

Sydney glared. “Then stop staring at me and open it.”

Morrigan boldly met her angry gaze. “I have tried to open this eluvian many times. 'Twas not ten minutes ago that I made another fruitless effort.”

Loudly, extravagantly, Sydney swore.

“If you have finished,” sniped at her. “I would tell you that perhaps you have merely to pray to your prophet as Leliana did to unlock the portal.”

“Pray?” She squeaked, mind traveling to the conversation with Leliana not twenty minutes ago.

“Yes,” grumped out of Morrigan. “That woman got on her knee, prayed to her Maker, and the eluvian opened a portal to your world.”

“Shit.” Sydney fretted. Another shiver hit her frame, and she cursed the chill of the place. It drove home that time wasn't on her side. “Um. Andraste, if you're listening, and you still want me and Leli together, uh. Open the door please?”

She rubbed at the goosebumps on her arms, and the gateway remained dark. Sydney kept talking, praying, begging, pleading until she drooped, pressing hand and forehead to the eluvian. An almost static shock buzzed from the oddly warm surface. She jerked back to see the thing do nothing. “Dammit.”

Fabric rustled. Wood thudded softly on the formless ground as Morrigan stepped close. Her own palm settled to the surface. Intense concentration etched her face for a long moment. “Touch it again,” was commanded.

Sydney obliged.

After what felt like a century, Morrigan withdrew, caught her eye. “Do you know how eluvians work?”

“Old elf magic?”

She rolled her eyes. “Ever the simple creature. I asked how they worked, not how they were created.”

Irritation snapped, “Then enlighten me, witch.”

A smile might have twitched those haughty features. “Eluvians are tied to each other. If one is broken or buried, a connection cannot be made. For those that are not, one only needs the key and enough power to awaken them. I clearly have enough power.”

“But no key.”

“Yes,” stabbed her heart.

“How do we find it?” Sydney demanded.

Morrigan's staff hummed into soft green light that darted out and struck the eluvian, setting the swirling grey to maddening circles. “Place your hand upon it.”

“What?”

A hand snapped out, grabbed her own, and pressed it to the warm surface. Magic hummed and crackled under her palm. The swirling light shifted, seemed to grow deeper, and the surface ceased to be solid. Warm wind blew, heavy with salt and the sounds of Miami. Sydney blinked.

“Well. 'Twould appear that I have found a key.” Voice heavy with satisfaction, Morrigan announced. Her expression was about the smuggest Sydney had ever seen. “I expect that your next visit last more than a few unpleasant minutes.”

Next visit? “You think I can get back that easily?”

Morrigan made a haughty gesture. “If all it took for you to get here was to _wish_ for it, then yes. Quickly now. Holding open an eluvian is more work than it looks.”

But what if she couldn't? Sydney looked at her friend, having suddenly so many things she wished to say, to ask about. “But...”

“Go before that silly bird of yours does something foolish.”

She made a twitchy movement.

Morrigan huffed, and the next thing Sydney realized was that the witch had  _kicked_ her into the portal. Sand hit her knees and hands. Wet sand. The tide had come in, and the sky was a riot of twilight colors.

“Sydney!” Sand flew as a body dove at Sydney, coming to their knees scant inches from her. “Sydney, Maker, I thought I'd lost you again.”

“Leli,” she whispered.

“You were gone so long. I...” tears filled her eyes, lined her cheeks.

Sydney gathered Leliana in her arms, comforting her, herself. “I came back to you.”

“You did,” relief nodded against her chest. “You came back.” Hard curiosity pushed her away, nearly gave her whiplash. “Where did you go?”

Slightly manic laughter bubbled up. “Nowhere. Morrigan said I went nowhere.”

“Morrigan?” Leliana demanded.

Sydney nodded and relayed her brief trip to the shadowy home of the eluvian. Excitement of tasted secrets gleamed in Leliana's eye as her hair caught the last of the sun's rays. For a brief moment, she had a halo of fire.

The infamous Nightingale grinned at Sydney. “I was right.”

“Where the flaming hell did you come from?” From a couple yards away, Detective Olson demanded.

Adrenaline spat Sydney's limbs into rigid attention. Oh no. How to play this off? What to... She blinked, sudden exhaustion making everything fuzzy, her body heavy, like she'd been tossing fire at demons for a week. “G'night,” blurred out of her before she hit the sand.

 

 


	29. Again

 “ _The Maker works both in the moment, and in how it is remembered.”_

 

_-Mother Giselle of the Orlesian Chantry_

* * *

 

 

“Sydney?” Leliana shook the woman in her lap. “Sydney?” was her nearly terrified demand. She slapped a hand to Sydney's chest and felt a steady heartbeat, hovered it over her mouth and felt breath. A sob of relief choked her.

“Is,” Detective Olson spoke hesitantly, “Is she hurt? Is she breathing?”

She looked up from Sydney to the man hovering nearby. He hadn't seen Sydney's initial disappearance and had been hovering since. His pupils were now blown wide, and he shifted his weight every breath. Leliana barely remembered that her English was supposed to be terrible. “ _Quoi_?”

He hurriedly knelt and checked Sydney for signs of life before sitting back and running a hand over his hair. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. She really wasn't involved with the Cartels, was she?” He sank to his knees, pale and sweating. “Holy shit.”

Leliana ignored him, returned her gaze to Sydney, stroked her sweaty hair. “ _Mon amour. Mon petit poisson,_ _ arrêtes de me faire peur, t'en supplie. _ ”

“ _ Non _ ,” breathed up at her.

She froze, cupped Sydney's cheek. “Sydney?”

“ _ Laisse tomber _ .”

Leave what? “ _ Es-tu réveillé _ ?” Leliana questioned her return to lucidity.

Eyelashes fluttered. Eventually, they slid apart and Sydney's gaze floated. “ _ Le ciel est sombre _ .”

Indeed the sky was dark. Sydney had vanished several candlemarks ago. “Sydney.” Gently, Leliana pat her cheek.

She blinked. Her eyes finally found Leliana's. She jerked and sat upright, hands clutching at Leliana. “I went back.” A hug crashed into her. “Leli, I saw Morrigan.” As abruptly, she twitched away. “Detective, what the fuck are you doing here?”

“I...” he ran a hand over his unkempt beard. “God. It doesn't matter anymore, does it? You were never working with the Cartels, and I sure as hell can't tell the department what I saw today. God. They'll laugh me out of the office.”

“You seriously thought I had something to do with the Cartels?” Sydney finally got to demand an answer. “Seriously?!”

“I did. Everything about your case ran parallel to another I've been on for _years._ ” His fists curled. “It involves the kidnapping and murder of more than a hundred people, and you... God, your injuries fit the profile of a tiger mauling. A local leader likes to throw people that make him angry into a ring with hungry tigers. I've lost two undercover detectives and a dozen others to him.”

Leliana scowled at the imagery and reminder of how Sydney had first come to Skyhold.

Sydney shivered, most likely from her own chilling memory. “Nope. Only the ones on my thigh are from a cat. The rest are from demons and dragons.” She offered jokingly, weakly, truthfully.

He was looking faint and lost. “God damn. The rumors from the hospital are true? Your nightmares about that video game?”

Sydney shrugged.

Leliana's hands fidgeted.

The detective's mouth fished until he gave a whimpering laugh, threw his eyes skyward, and sputtered, “What the hell!” His gaze fell back to earth. “So, eh, can I give you a ride home?”

“No, we...” Sydney started to turn him down.

Argument erupted from Leliana, in quick, harsh Orlesian. Sydney was quite clearly exhausted from her journey between worlds, and they needed to inform Lord Grosvenor of these developments. Both the portal and the detective. The argument didn't last long. Sydney capitulated with a sigh and told the detective they'd be happy to accept. His gaze flit between them, but he nodded and led the way to his vehicle.

One hand held Sydney's on the journey, the other fiddled with the ring box in her pocket. Leliana had intended to propose at a nice spot along their walk. Her headache had retreated that morning at the prospect of surprising Sydney, of taking a knee before her and asking for her hand in marriage, of sliding the ring on her finger, of being tugged up to share a beautiful kiss.

Nug shit, was her silent grumble.

A weight settled on Leliana's shoulder. Sydney had slumped, her eyes closed, breath slow and warm. Sweet, adoring, a smile curled Leliana's mouth. The hours of panic when she'd thought she might have lost Sydney forever had been banished so quickly with Sydney's arms and a simple statement.

_“I came back to you.”_

Leliana sighed. There would always be another time to propose. Her brave knight would never leave her behind.

“Just friends,” came a snort from the detective. Their gazes met briefly in the rearview mirror. “Wish my wife still looked at me like that.”

Leliana couldn't imagine a day when she would stop being amazed by the beauty and strength in Sydney.

“Jesus.” Detective Olsen sighed. “You understand English just fine, don't you? Hell of a detective I am,” was muttered. “Couldn't see anything right in front of my nose. No. I was too damn busy chasing ghosts.”

Responding was unnecessary. Leliana looked back down at Sydney, at her bare finger. Tomorrow. She could propose tomorrow.

 

As usual, the sky was blue, the sand was scalding, and the beach was crowded. Not as usual, Sydney wasn't in a bathing suit, she wasn't swimming, and she wasn't happy.

For about the 40th time that day, Sydney tried to summon the white fire.

And failed. Again.

“Anything?” James prodded. _Again._

She shook her head. What was he expecting? She'd told him a dozen times that she hadn't been able to summon the fire when away from sword while in Thedas, let alone in freaking Miami. “I can feel the waypoint, but no fire.” How she managed to say that without verbally flaying the skin from his bones must've come from years of customer service life. It certainly wasn't her patience, which was stretched thin by lingering tiredness despite the ten hours of sleep she'd gotten last night. While he sighed, she focused her hot frustration on the cluster of palm trees that marked the waypoint. Damn, they'd look good as firewood. Or as splinters. Combustible splinters.

He was going to ask her to open the portal next. Bring something back probably. How about an undead villager from the bottom of a lake? Daydreaming about James screaming and pissing himself made Sydney smile. Viciously. She caught an understanding smirk on Leliana before fingers went to a temple in a useless, yet obvious attempt to hold back her migraine.

Smirk twisted to scowl, and Sydney wished more than anything to take Leliana home, back to Thedas. There was a thrill of power in her veins a heartbeat before nothingness overtook her and made her panic before spitting her back into the gloomy world of eluvians. Dammit, Andraste! What was she playing at?

“Andraste, if you're listening, I am so not amused.” Sydney growled at the shadows. They swirled lazily, and she huffed. “Morrigan?” The witch had been close last time. Maybe she was nearby now? Or was she asleep? How differently did time move?

A heavy yawn slowed her down, made her reach out to the eluvian for balance as exhaustion piled on her shoulders. “No.” She growled. “No. I am not going to fall asleep. I don't have time for this shit.” She pushed off from the eluvian and glared around. “I could use a street sign, Andraste!”

No bright exit signs popped into existence. She grit her teeth against another yawn and tried a different tack. She could feel the waypoint back home. She could sense rifts in Leli's world. She must be able to sniff out the portal leading to Skyhold and Morrigan. Not daring to close her eyes, she scoured the mists with eyes and mind, hunting for the familiar twinge that said _doorway._

What felt like a million mosquitoes buzzed in her skull. Great. She could feel _all of them._ She soothed herself with the realization that Miami's doorway buzzed a particularly annoying tune that she knew she'd be able to pick out from the rest.

“Morrigan!” She bellowed as she hobbled into the shadows. “Morrigan! I need your cranky ass!”

Mist swirled and kissed her prickled flesh, her cries were absorbed by the cottony darkness, and she shivered from more than the chill of the place.

“Morrigan!”

She had an intense recollection of fighting rotten zombies underneath the drained lake at Crestwood, constantly flinching at every water droplet, terrified that the dam would fail and flood the slimy caverns the companions were trudging through. A hand went to brush at her sword hilt. Fingers brushed the fabric of her thin shorts instead, and she cursed.

“Morrigan! Come get me out of here!”

A flare of magic caught her attention. It felt like a rift opening, but it only lasted a few seconds. An eluvian? Sydney changed direction and headed for it.

“Morrigan?” she yelled.

Muffled footsteps ran in her direction, much too light to be the long-legged witch. Sydney stopped. She took up a defensive posture and waited for whoever was coming.

Bright yellow eyes appeared in the mist, too bright to be human, and Sydney tensed, bringing her cane up.

“Sydney!”

A body formed around the eyes. A boy. Sydney sagged, returning her cane to ground, leaning on it. “Keiran,” puffed out of her as he skidded to a stop, sharp gaze examining her changed visage and bright yellow cane.

“I felt your return.” He stated in that too-adult voice of his. “As I did last time, when mother was here. She is helping train some of the young mages. I'm sure she has sensed your return and will be along shortly.”

Standing still, a yawn pushed its way out.

Keiran's head canted. “Are you tired from opening the doorway?”

“Yea. I passed out when I got home last time.”

“Oh.” He gestured behind him. “There is a place to sit near Skyhold's eluvian.”

Her small guide led the way, never taking his eyes off her and fidgeting like the young child he actually was when Sydney's butt finally hit cool stone. She set her cane to the side. “I know. The scars are intense.” She offered as explanation to his questioning gaze.

“They do not change who you are.”

“Is it the clothes?” She gestured at her intensely green shorts.

His eyes flickered down, but he shook his head.

“Do I smell weird?”

“May I hug you?” was his quiet answer.

Oh. She opened her arms, and her young friend stepped in, embracing her tightly, letting a sniffle loose. She ruffled his hair. “I missed you too.”

Sydney would have missed the flare of an eluvian if Keiran didn't straighten to point it out. She faced its direction, watching the mist whirl until the outline of a person appeared in it. Morrigan materialized a heartbeat later. Her wolf eyes darted about before landing on Sydney and Keiran.

“Only a few candlemarks have passed. Did you need escape again so soon?” Morrigan teased.

Sydney yawned. “This trip was an accident too. We were experimenting with calling the white fire.”

Interest sharpened Morrigan's gaze. “What were the results?”

“Nothing.”

“Can you summon it now?”

Exasperation rolled her eyes. Curiosity had her trying anyway. Her mind buzzed with a feeling of static, barely enough to register, yet enough to pique her concentration. She abruptly knew _exactly_ where Skyhold's eluvian was. It hummed a siren's call to her. Her sword was close. She had only to hobble a few steps to the mirror and a few more beyond it. She gasped at the intensity of the feeling.

“No.” Sydney answered. “But I can feel the sword's magic.”

“Can you now,” wasn't a question, but a statement of Morrigan's curiosity. She'd be poking at Sydney for more soon.

“Morrigan. Can you get me back home now?” Sydney rose as Keiran stepped back.

Her expression shifted to a sneer. “Bored already? My apologies for not bringing proper entertainment.”

“Stow the attitude, Morrigan. There's a huge time difference between our worlds. It's been a day since I was here last.”

The same expression of surprise appeared on mother and son.

“I was gone from my world for years when it was only a few months here.” Sydney played with a ding in her cane's handle that she was pretty certain appeared after a night of drunken rage over her crippled body and broken mind. “I'll be back soon. Leli needs to go home.”

“Does she itch for her duties?” Morrigan's question was without the usual mockery.

“Probably. But,” concern made her take a deep breath. “But, I think my world is killing her. She's getting these insane migraines. They're getting worse every day.”

“Migraines?”

“Headaches, Morrigan. Sometimes they're so bad, she won't eat or drink or get out of bed for hours. The doct- healers in my world can't find a cause. I think it's separation from her world, from magic.” Hot worry leaked from her eyes. “Now I know how, I have to try bringing her back.”

Morrigan's expression softened, her gaze shooting to Keiran and back, before it hardened to its usual hauteur. “Then we must return to that foolish bird before she becomes prey to her own idiocy.” She began a crisp pace toward _Sydney's_ eluvian.

Sydney struggled to keep up, her cane mimicking Morrigan's staff for its dull thuds on the formless ground. She was out of breath when they reached it. Morrigan simply grabbed Sydney's hand, thwacked it to the mirror's surface and made it come alive with power. The scent and noise of the ocean flowed out. Morrigan let her staff rest against her shoulder as she twisted at a thumb.

“Take it. See if it helps.” A polished silver ring was in the hand thrust at Sydney.

“Um?”

“It is enchanted. Simple, but powerful. Demon wards.” Morrigan's eyes nearly glowed. “I will work with Solas on a potion in case returning home is not enough for Leliana.”

Sydney's tired brain made her smile and spit out, “You _did_ hug her.”

Morrigan flinched. “'Tis untrue. The foolish bird wrapped herself about me in a fit of hysteria.”

Mischief and affection beamed at Morrigan, who took a step away from Sydney.

“No,” Morrigan snapped.

“If you make me wait til I come back with Leli, she'll want another one.”

Unhappy eyes narrowed at her, lips compressed tightly.

Sydney waited.

“Fine,” huffed out. Her free arm lifted. “Get it over with.”

Despite her cold words and stiff frame, the hug was warm. “You're a good friend, Morrigan.”

Morrigan kicked her into the portal. Again.

 

Instead of falling asleep in the vehicle, Sydney managed to stay awake until the elevator of her apartment building. Leliana found a smile as she caught Sydney's weight. They stumbled down the hall, through the door, and right to the bedroom. Sydney plowed face-first into the pillows and did not stir. Leliana took the cane, set it against the wall, brushed hair back from Sydney's face, got distracted by the gleam of metal on her own thumb.

Morrigan's ring.

“This is not the ring I imagined sliding onto a finger today, my love.” Leliana whispered. She sighed, both at the delay of the proposal and at the headache throbbing in her skull. The ring didn't appear to be having any effect. Perhaps it needed time.

Perhaps the only cure was a return to Thedas. It was certainly possible. Sydney had proven that twice now. Was it by Sydney's own magic that she could open the doorway between worlds? Or was she but a key, as Morrigan had called her? But if she was merely a key, why then did the passage exhaust her so? Had Sydney always had this magic? Was it awakened when she came upon the sword? Was it an effect from having been pulled from her world by Andraste?

Knives scraped the backs of Leliana's eyes, dug deep into her skull, made her whimper and forget the path of her thoughts. Andraste's ashes! Was there no escape? Mewling, she found the other side of the bed, crawled in, and tucked close to Sydney, praying for an end to the incessant pain.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Quoi? - what?  
> Mon amour. Mon petit poisson, arrêtes de me faire peur, t'en supplie – my love. My little fish, stop scaring me, I beg you  
> Laisse tomber – let fall (purposely nonsense)  
> Es-tu réveillé – are you asleep?  
> Le ciel est sombre – the sky is dark


	30. Manipulative as Ever

 “ _I have requests on your lineage from a few interested parties at the Winter Palace.”_

“ _Andraste preserve me. Feel free to use those requests as kindling.”_

“ _No! I shall take them. I want to know who pines for our commander. We can use this to our advantage.”_

“ _I am not bait!”_

“ _Hush. Just look pretty.”_

 

_-Josephine, Cullen, and Leliana at the wartable_

* * *

 

 

Three days. It'd been three days since Sydney had brought back Morrigan's ring and if it _was_ even affecting Leli at all, the damn thing was making the migraine worse. Leli hadn't gotten out of bed to do more than pee in two days. She wouldn't have drank or eaten if Sydney hadn't brought her water and oatmeal and fruit smoothies loaded with protein. For herself, Sydney had barely eaten as well. She'd drank plenty. Too much. Whiskey mostly. And she hadn't slept much either.

Hungover, exhausted, worried to the point of sickness, Sydney made up her mind. Leli was going home tonight. Harsh motion set aside the drink she'd been staring at for the past two hours and rose. She pulled out the tote she normally took to the beach and started stuffing it. In went the rest of her apples and peaches, hairbrush, the books, pencils, and notebooks that Leliana had acquired. Sydney's favorite perfume. The five extra packs of toothbrushes she'd bought yesterday. A couple framed photographs were grabbed and several more were printed off the computer, stowed between the frames, which she wrapped in a towel before adding them to the bag.

Sydney thought about what else to do or take. Her mom and Joze had been told about the waypoint and warned days ago that she might leave abruptly. Letters had already been written. For James, thanking him for his incredible generosity, for the handful of friends Sydney had kept in touch with, for her fencing teacher that she wouldn't be going back to. Even a will had been written with the help of a lawyer. Just in case Sydney never made it back. She'd canceled all her subscriptions, donated a ton of stuff to the local homeless shelter, and washed all the dishes. Anything else?

Her eye fell on the sword that Josiah had bought her. Nostalgia grinned sadly. Yes. She'd take it. The Inquisition would give her a new sword if Andraste's Fire didn't accept her again, of course, but this was more than a photograph. Memories of a great day with her best friend were etched into the sword, a tangible piece of her life here. At those thoughts, Sydney decided she'd take the ren faire outfit. She could wear it in Thedas. Not in Skyhold, not in the winter, but it'd be better than beach clothes in the Crossroads.

At those cold thoughts, she grabbed her thickest socks and coziest blanket. Just in case Morrigan didn't show up quickly. Leli might be able to handle cold feet and frozen nipples, but Sydney couldn't. Ew. Why was she going back to the land of blizzards, so far from the beautiful, hot, sunny beaches of Florida? A whimper from the bed reminded her. Leliana's migraine had her deep in some pit of hell. Deep enough she hadn't noticed Sydney's odd behavior, hadn't questioned her incessantly until she got the answers she wanted.

Sydney scribbled a note on paper for Leliana, left it on top of the notebook it was stolen from. Carefully, she bent and placed a butterfly kiss to Leli's hair. That earned her a cracked eyelid. The shadowed gaze met hers, somehow focused through the pain. “Sydney?”

“Going to see mom. I'll be back soon.” She whispered.

What might have been a smile softened Leliana's face for a breath. The eyelid closed, and Leliana returned to her private misery. Sydney refrained from another kiss and switched from lounge pants to linen pants and a cami. Fuck wearing a bra. Let the world see the real outline of her boobs. A relieved sigh escaped her. Unlike the ridiculous sex scenes in the game, the women of Leli's world didn't wear uncomfortable bras. Some wore corsets, sure. Not bras. Okay. Some did, but at least they weren't the unpleasantly wired, foam-padded things of today. It'd be such a relief to go free without some judgmental twat giving her a sneer or some jerk leering at her.

Ugh, jerks would still leer at her. Probably more because scars weren't quite as much of a turn off in savage Thedas. And armor was its own special brand of uncomfortable, even tailor made leathers. Saddlesores would be part of her life until her butt got used to the stiff leather seat once more. Sydney's heart wobbled at the lack of knowing what had become of Epona, and her curiosity burned to know where the hart had come from and where it had gone. Would she find out? Would she even go adventuring with her crippled ass unable to fight properly?

She swore under her breath and locked the door on her way out. It didn't matter. Adventure, ride escort for Josephine's ambassador trips, sit in Leli's tower. She was going back and staying with the woman she loved, who made her feel warm and silly and content and ready to face anything. First, though, she had to go tell her mom she was leaving. Tonight.

At Lobster's Folly, Sydney didn't have to say anything. Janine took one look at her daughter and told Joze they was leaving early. Frank the bar manager was given responsibility to finish closing up after the slow night. His curiosity was obvious behind his easy nod, and it made Sydney bite her tongue against telling him goodbye, telling all the servers wiping down tables and rolling silverware and the kitchen staff putting away leftovers and sanitizing workspaces. These people were as much family to her as Leli.

But it would create complications. It would slow her down.

Sydney didn't have time for goodbyes.

She didn't have time to cry. Leliana was her first priority. That was what Sydney's heart had realized weeks ago when Leli's company had ceased to be a dream she was terrified to wake from, when it became easy and natural and comforting and safe. Leli made her life better, and she deserved the same. That's all there was to it.

“You're taking her back.” Janine stated. “And staying with her.”

“She's in so much pain, mom.”

“I know.”

“I should be able to visit.” Sydney glanced at the sky, where the moon was low, barely visible behind the buildings and streetlights. Nothing like the night sky over Skyhold with its millions of vivid stars, each sparkling like diamonds and teasing of distant worlds. She blinked back down to her mom and Joze.

“Should.” Heartbreak whuffed out of Joze, his face a picture of dejection.

The same sadness was mirrored in her mother's eyes, but she put up a mask of bravery, of confidence in her daughter. “If she can, she will.” Janine hit her fob, and her car lights blinked that it was unlocked. “I'm not going to try to stop you, _mon chou_ , but I need to stop at home first.”

Her mom's place wasn't that far away and the late hour removed traffic from the equation. Sydney nodded. The trip was short, quiet, tense. Her mother spent maybe five minutes in her place, didn't explain why, and drove them to their next stop. The three of them went up to Sydney's apartment.

“This is what you're taking?” Janine poked in the bag. Her fingers dragged over the last picture taken of their family before Sydney's dad was lost at sea.

“Yea.” Sydney let her mom snoop without commenting, simply changed into the medieval clothing and strapped the sword belt on. “Joze. Help me get Leli up?”

Both of them grit their teeth as every movement ripped moans and whimpers of pain from Leli. They got her into simple clothes, shoes, and made her drink some juice.

“What is the emergency?” Leliana rasped as they helped her down the hall.

“I'm taking you home.”

“Oh,” was her distracted hum. Half a minute later, her head jerked up. She put fingers to temples at the obvious pain, yet demanded, “Sydney. What if you cannot return?”

Sydney shrugged as bravely as she could. “Then I'll just have to scout out a beach house in Rivain after we kick Corypheus' ass.”

“But, Sydney, I-”

“Shush.” Janine chided. “Let my daughter take care of the woman she loves.”

Clouded blue eyes shifted between them. The shame of defeat dropped them. It would probably weigh on Leliana forever that Sydney had chosen Leliana's health over family. “I do not deserve her.”

Sydney chose to save that argument for later. “Let's get her to the car.”

“Wait.” Janine stopped them. She dipped a hand into a pocket, pulled out a shiny length of gold, one Sydney immediately recognized as her grandmother's necklace. It was old. Ancient. “You will take this with you.”

“ _Maman_ ,” was the beginning of her resistance.

“It has passed from mother to daughter for six generations.” Janine had fallen into French, and her tone was stern, almost angry, definitely breathless in a trying not to cry kind of way. “You will take it now, Sydney Catherine Nelson, and you will take care of it until it is time to pass it on again.”

She swallowed and dipped her head for her mother to clip the necklace on. The chain itself was only fifty years old. It was the odd little charm that was the heirloom, two wedding rings fused around a leaping fish. Her family had always been tied to the sea. “ _Oui, maman._ ”

Her mother pressed a kiss to each of her cheeks before blustering toward the stuff Sydney had set aside. “I added a couple water bottles and that whiskey you like so much. Who knows when your friend will show up. It never hurts to have something to drink.” She heaved the tote and sword and blanket into her arms and held the door open. “Let's go.”

She ushered them out and to her car for the quiet ride to the beach where she parked illegally, muttered about the ticket she'd probably have to pay, and scowled mightily at a passerby who glanced at her. The four of them descended the stairs and trudged through sand until the familiar waypoint hummed in front of Sydney.

“ _Ma dame Nelson_ ,” Leliana started.

“I know you will take care of my baby girl when you are better. Save your strength for the trip.”

Leliana's shoulders tightened. “But you are losing her again.”

“It...” Janine shook her head. “It's not a loss when she goes with you, Leliana. You are too good for her for me to be angry with this. And my Sydney will come visit.”

“What if she can't?” Joze whined, fat, shimmering tears streaming down his cheeks.

“My Sydney has already come home three times, Josiah.” Tears finally sparkled in her eyes. “She will find a way to visit her mother and best friend. Here,” she held out her arms. “I will hold Leliana up while you two get your hug in.”

Gingerly, they passed Leliana's wobbly frame to Janine. Josiah lunged at Sydney and squeezed her with all his considerable strength. “Take care of yourself this time.” He snuffled.

“Not a chance.” Sydney argued, but when his embraced shivered, she sighed and pat his shoulders. “But Leliana will probably find something to hold over Bull so he doesn't toss me headfirst at the next dragon.” Quieter, “And I'll be more careful, Joze. We know what happens next in Thedas. We should be able to avoid the worst.”

“Fuck. My best friend the demon hunter.” Wet chuckles bubbled up. He kissed her cheek and stepped back. “Stab a few for me, okay?”

“Just for you.” She made to go to Leli, but darted in for another quick, tight hug that she ended with fierce kisses to both his cheeks. “I'll miss you too, Joze. I love you. Take care of your own ass, okay?”

“Yea.” He nodded and wiped at his wet face. “Love you.”

Sydney faced her mother. “ _Maman_.”

“Joze.”

He stepped in to support Leliana, and Janine took her daughter in her arms, squeezing her close, kissing her hair, whispering words of love and support and success and saying she'd stuffed a letter in with her things. Her mom had always been one to prepare for the future. She'd probably written the damn thing weeks ago.

Sydney allowed the tears to come. “I _will_ come visit.”

“I know.” Janine soothed, petting Sydney's hair back, thumb tracking along a prominent scar. “You are strong and capable of anything.”

“Thank you,” was all she could mumble.

Long heartbeats later, her mom finally released her grip on Sydney. “Take your Leli, _mon chou_.” She offered a teary smile. “Take your love home and save her world.”

Before Leliana allowed herself to be passed on, she whispered something in Joze's ear and kissed his cheeks. He nodded and helped shift her to Sydney's shoulder where Janine gently hugged Leliana and gave her a short litany of affectionate words. Cheek kisses were exchanged, and Janine grabbed up the sword, stuffed it in Sydney's belt, hung the bag on her shoulder, tucked the blanket under her free arm. She sniffled wetly, stepped back, and gripped Josiah's arm as though she might float away.

Throat tight, heart pounding, eyes burning, Sydney thought to say something else, but nothing came out of her dry mouth when she opened it.

“My love,” whispered along her neck. “You don't have to do this. We can find a-”

“Yes.” Sydney cut her off. “I do.” Determination steadied her nerves, focus closed her eyes, and love opened the door. She held Leliana close and went through.

Familiar lack of sensation assaulted her, then the chill and unnerving shadows of the Crossroads greeted her. And then Leliana groaned and vomited in front of them. Sydney barely had time to jerk away.

“Apologies,” whined from Leli.

Sydney dug out a water bottle, saying silent thanks to her mother, and opened it. “Here.”

Leli sipped, swished, spit, took another sip and swallowed.

“Better?”

“My head,” she put fingers to temple. “It is spinning.”

“Want to sit down?”

A few moments passed.

“Leli?”

“No. Let us walk.”

Sydney did her best to hobble as little as possible, to be the strong support Leli's weak frame needed.

“Sydney?”

“Hm?”

“Do you know where we're going?” Leli's whisper had a hint of tease to it.

“Um.” Sydney paused to focus. Their surroundings might be familiar. Miami's eluvian buzzed behind them, Skyhold's hummed encouragingly before them. “Yes.”

Lips brushed her chin, and Leliana moved forward. It didn't take long before the deep mists changed. Eluvians were no longer far enough apart to be hidden from their closest neighbor. Statues rose up. Strange tree-like statues caught Sydney's imagination. It seemed like their globe tops should be holding something, giant balls or mage lights or prisoners. Stone benches appeared. Real trees, strange things with leaves that felt like they were trying to be pretty and colorful and failing miserably. How could anything grow in this murky place? There was water, strangely enough, gurgling from fountains and walls, but no sunlight.

“Here.” Sydney realized she'd passed Skyhold's eluvian a short distance ago.

“Yes.” Leli tilted her head. “I recognize this place.”

Pain twinged in Sydney's bad leg, and she decided it was time to rest. She put their butts to a cold bench with a high back. Leliana shivered, gooseflesh prickling her arms, and sighed when Sydney draped the blanket around her, dug out the socks she'd packed.

“You brought socks.” Leliana giggled.

“I brought socks.” Sydney smiled back and put the things to use.

They sat together, leaning back on the wall, pressed close, for warmth, for reassurance, for comfort. For a long time. Long enough that Sydney's eyelids fluttered open and a yawn split her face before it dawned on her that she'd fallen asleep. How long? Her throat wanted water. When the cool liquid hit her stomach, it woke up and grumbled.

Leliana shifted. Her expression pinched, and she sighed as she sat up. “What time is it?”

“No idea.” Sydney held the water bottle close to Leli's hand. “Thirsty?”  
An agreeing nod preceded cautious sips and a speculative frown.

“How're you feeling?”

Another sip of water. “As though my head has taken a journey in the clouds with rocks lashed tightly to it.”

“That sounds nice.” Sydney reached for a fruit.

Deep blue glowered at her. “I have also taken a chill.”

“Sorry.” Sydney bemoaned not having packed more. Despite the relative warmth of the ren faire costume, her own body was supremely unhappy with the chill of the place, and she was _not_ looking forward to the deeper chill of Skyhold. “I should've brought another blanket.” But at least Skyhold would have fires and hot spiced wine.

Leliana's hand settled atop Sydney's thigh. “That your mother bid you such a simple farewell and you have brought as much as you did tells me you put much thought into this venture. The abrupt departure was not the result of grief-stricken impulse.”

Not entirely.

“I could not have picked a better woman to ask for her hand in marriage.”

Sydney chuckled. Then choked. “What?”

Leliana's hand retreated, and her entire body slid from the bench to kneel. A small sparkling thing was held up in her palm. “I would marry you, Sydney.”

Shock gaped down at her. A ring? For her? Marriage? “Me?” squeaked out.

An aggrieved sigh, “I meant to present it to you some time ago, but those blasted pains never allowed me the time.”

That made sense. Leli barely found the energy to read about explosives let alone drop to her knees and ask Sydney to marry her. “Have you had that thing in your underwear this entire time?” Sydney demanded. They'd changed Leli out of pocket-less pajamas to a summer dress. She hadn't any place to stash a ring besides panties.

Soft chuckles wafted out. “No, my love. Josiah made sure it came with me. He helped me choose it and advised me with its presentation.” A pause. “I did not ask Lady Nelson for her permission, though it pained me.”

Adoration bent Sydney forward, sent her hands to Leliana's jaw, pressed her lips to hers. “I would've been pissed if you had. Maker's balls, Leli. Mom would've stared at me and made mystery comments and made my life miserable until you proposed in the middle of the restaurant at rush hour.” Another kiss begged to be placed on perfect lips. “I'm sure Joze will tell her soon enough.”

Leliana nodded. “I suppose he will.”

Sydney leaned out of the uncomfortable stretch. “At least now I don't have to deal with mom prodding me about grandkids.”

“Do you not want children?” came the expected question.

“You've barely asked me to marry you and we're already talking about kids?” Sydney grouched.

“Why not? You haven't answered the first, why not move on to the next?” was thrown back.

Oh. Yea. She hadn't. Her gaze darted to the palm Leliana continued to hold up. Marriage. What a permanent thing. She'd never expected it to be a possibility in her life. No one had ever made her think that far into the future. Hell, thinking far ahead was still a weak point. She just wanted Leliana to be happy and safe and free of undue pain and darkness. Could she really give that to her?

Freckled features tightened with concealed anguish.

Sydney's throat squeezed. “Am I really the right person?”

“You doubt my impeccable judgment?” Her chin lifted in challenge.

“I...” That ring was _really_ pretty. Joze knew her tastes probably better than she did. “I doubt _me_.”

The sparkle was shut away behind a closed fist, and Leliana stood. Shoulders back, stance wide, jaw set, she glowered down at Sydney. “Why did you dance with me?”  
She balked at the angry tone. “What?”

“At the Winter Palace,” sneered at her. “Why dance as you did?”

Her mind leapt back to that day so long ago. “I was mad at you.”

“Why else?” barked at her.

Anger sparked afresh, made Sydney bristle. “I wanted to make you acknowledge what was between us and show some fucking emotion.”

“At the cloister in Valence, why did you put your neck upon my blade?” Leliana's chest heaved with her fury.

Sydney found her thumb brushing the pommel of her sword. She yanked it away, angry now at herself for the old reflex to being threatened. Even a furious Leliana would never hurt her. “Because you were going to murder that woman for nothing more than pissing you off.”

“I've murdered hundreds. Why her? Why start fighting me then?”

“Because if I hadn't, you would have killed yourself!” Sydney's cane thumped on the ground as she jumped to her feet. “You would have killed what was left of your gentle nature, your compassion and sweetness and let the Nightingale take over. You would've become Marjolaine. I couldn't let that happen.”

Leliana pressed into her personal space, their noses only inches apart, the blue of her eyes nearly glowing with feral emotion. “Why did you bring me here?”

“It was the only thing left to try!” She threw hands up. “Nothing else was working, dammit. I love your arrogant ass too much to let you rot like that!”

“Why are you still here?” growled from deep in her chest. “Why haven't you gone back to your beach and hot sun? Already I feel more myself. You could leave knowing you've saved me a life of blinding pain. Go. Get back to your sea, little fish!”

What the hell? Hadn't she just said she loved her too much? “Fuck you.”

“Marry me.”

Sydney reeled at the verbal parry.

“If I cannot get be rid of your stubborn ass, then accept my ring and my heart and promise to take care of me until I die!” Leliana shoved her fist into Sydney's chest, the ring glinting from between clenched fingers.

The heat of anger was pushed aside by a new warmth, a gentler one, one that bloomed in her chest and sent tendrils to her fingers and toes and lips. Sydney smiled. “Always so damn pushy.”

“I want you, Sydney Catherine Nelson. I wish to love you and make you smile and comfort you from nightmares and challenge your mind and share my secrets with you for the rest of my days. Will you have me or not?” she finished, anger gone, replaced by exasperation and annoyance.

Her grin went lopsided. “Yea. I suppose I will.” Her hand lifted.

Leliana's exasperation went dry. “Wrong hand, my love.”

Sydney blinked, blushed, and offered the proper hand. It was grasped, and gently, hesitantly, with much lip-biting, the ring slid onto her finger.

The most adorable, shy, wondrous expression was glowing from Leliana. “May I kiss you?” found its way past trembling lips.

Suddenly breathless, Sydney nodded. Trembling flesh met her own, and she sighed, melting into the embrace, easing into the reality of how much Leliana loved her.

Sharp noise jerked them apart. Two pairs of hands were clapping, a young voice was giggling. Not ten feet from the closest eluvian was a pair of shadows, one tall, one short, both sporting bright yellow orbs for eyes.

“Manipulative as ever, I see,” laughed out of Morrigan. “'Twas quite the maneuver. Though I don't understand the attraction to such a stupid creature, balking at getting exactly what it most desires. Foolish woman.” She sneered at Sydney. “Will you be jumping in fright at rabbits now?”

“'Tis not the fault of Sydney that darkness clouds her vision of herself.” Keiran piped up in that too-adult voice of his. “She works hard to keep her light aglow in it, mother.”

Sydney flinched as his words hit home. Always too accurate.

Morrigan sighed and brushed fingers through his thick, black hair. “Yes, Keiran. She does. Why don't you go and greet her with all that enthusiasm I feel quivering in your chest now that Leliana has secured her victory.”

He grinned, bright and excited and ran at Sydney. His hug didn't strike at full force, however, he slowed and glanced at her cane, allowed her time to open her arms and keep her balance. “You are here to stay this time?” whispered into her chest.

Sydney looked to Leliana, who had lines between her brow, the kind that always came with pain, and she had a hand set to the wall for support. But... Hands were not at her temples, eyes weren't squinted or shut, teeth weren't clenched. “I think so.”

Keiran yipped an excited, “Good!” and extricated himself to turn to Leliana. Though Sydney had been told stories of Leliana's friendship with Keiran, seeing their tight hug was still a shock. “What was missing is returning to the empty places.” He hummed. “Can you feel it, Leliana?”

A relieved sigh nodded. “I can. It is a bit overwhelming, as though standing after much time upside down, yet it is wonderful.”

It'd worked? Leli was going to be okay? Sydney sank to the bench, a stupid, happy grin plastered on her face.

“For the absence of magic in a creature deaf to magic to pain her as lack of sunlight for a flower.” Fascination hummed from Morrigan. “What I would give to study your world, Sydney.”

“Her world, Morrigan, is not without its own magic.” Leliana corrected, certainty etched in every word and line of her face. Sydney made to correct her. Leliana continued before she could. “The sun rises, it sets. The journey between night and day is as vivid and colorful as our own. There is great art and literature and music. The same energy one would feel in a crowd on festival days is as alive there as it is here. Sydney's people have harnessed vast energies and used them to fly, to speak with others beyond the curve of the world, to record music for listening at pleasure, to destroy entire countries with a single bomb.”

White showed around the yellow of Morrigan's eyes. “Truly?”

Argument vanished from Sydney's tongue at the way Leli described her world. What if mages were merely those who could manipulate the world at the atomic, the subatomic level? But then, why had Leliana been so affected by distance from her magical world? Sydney sighed, shaking her head. “We can't agree on what we call magic.”

“I would not call music a creation of magic.” Morrigan said thoughtfully. “But I cannot ignore how its effects are often similar to spells upon the listeners.”

Sydney's head pulsed at the philosophical discussion she saw Morrigan and Leliana about to dive into. She stood quickly. “Can we go now? My cold ass could use a hot fire and soup.”

Annoyance flashed across both students of the arcane. “'Tis midday.” Morrigan huffed. “Do you wish a great, noisome gaggle of fools to harry you the moment you step into the courtyard?”

Shit. Of course not. Sydney wanted to sneak in, see her friends first, make sure Leli's migraines didn't swoop back in at too much excitement, and go to bed. She was exhausted.

“Morrigan.” Leliana offered a sly tone. “Could I persuade you to fetch us wools and furs, possibly create a diversion for us to sneak to my quarters?”

Yellow eyes fell to Sydney's yellow cane, colorful tote, exotic blanket. “Two strangers with such strange accessories who flit from the eluvian's room to the spymaster's would never go unnoticed. Not with as many bored eyes as Skyhold currently harbors.”

Sydney groaned. Leliana sighed.

Morrigan set a hand to Keiran's shoulder. “Keiran. It is well past time for your lessons with Master Dennet. These two will not be going off on any mad quests any time soon. You may loiter with them later.”

“Yes, mother.” His tone was resigned. “Leliana. Sydney. I will see you later.” Much to Sydney's surprise, though she shouldn't have been, he woke the eluvian by himself and stepped through.

Maternal pride smiled at the powerful young man. Hauteur returned the moment Morrigan's gaze shifted. “As for the two of you, I am not unprepared to get you to more comfortable surroundings without notice. Wait here a candlemark more. I shall return.” She whirled, took a hard step, stopped. She turned back, reached out a hand, and laid it on Leliana's shoulder. “Welcome home, Leliana.” The hand snapped away. “Sydney.” Then she was gone.

“Did.” Sydney gaped at swirling gateway. “Did she just?”

“'Twould seem she has missed my presence at the dinner table. Alistair must be insufferable.” Leliana joked in a fair imitation of Morrigan's arrogance. It didn't last long. She took a sudden, deep breath, and wobbled to the bench. “Andraste's flames, Sydney. My head was spinning before Morrigan made that unexpected gesture.”

“The witch.” She chuckled and dropped her own butt.

One of Leli's hands rose to a temple. Abruptly, it darted away, to Sydney's hand, gathered it to lips that delicately touched her fingers. Her ring. A smug grin formed on Leliana. “So many nobles shall be sorely disappointed when they learn of our betrothal.”

_Betrothal._

“And the nonsense of those who want me on the Sunburst Throne will be swept aside.” Happiness buzzed from her. “The married do not become Divine.”

_Married._

“You are gaping like a fish again, my love.”

She'd need to get a ring for Leli. Morrigan should be able to help. The witch loved sparkly things, knew every jewel merchant this side of the Fade. “Can we have our honeymoon in Rivain?” was her next thought. All the stories she'd heard of their gorgeous beaches, exotic food, sweet wines...

“I never would have guessed you'd wish to laze about on hot beach for a holiday.” Leliana snarked.

“And have you in skimpy, wet clothes? No. Not me.” Sydney grinned, quickly getting attached to the plan. “I can't wait to watch everyone who leers at you faint when they see your ring and who you're bound to.”

Long lashes fluttered, pink rose on cheeks. “My dashing knight.”

“Your crotchety bar wench,” was her correction.

“Either way.” Leliana snuggled close. “You're mine.”

 

 


	31. The Crafty Witch

 “ _One person trying to do something can make a difference. You should keep that in mind, Herald.”_

 

_-Lysette, Templar Recruit_

* * *

 

 

Leliana was more than grateful that the sodding throb of headache had quickly faded to a dull ache upon setting foot in the Crossroads. She truly was. However, the persistent sensation of lightness making her woozy was little better. The eluvian flared and opened once. Both of them turned eagerly, yet neither Morrigan nor Keiran appeared. “So, traveler.” A soft, masculine voice preceded a lean frame, pointed ears, and bare feet. “You have returned.”

Sydney's cane creaked under her tight grip. “Solas?”

“I knew you had returned twice previously.” His gnarled staff thudded as he approached, and he gracefully did little more than acknowledge Sydney's scars before meeting her eye. “And left as abruptly. When that doorway did not reopen before Morrigan appeared in the courtyard, I knew you were here for at least long enough to assuage my curiosity.”

“Hi?”

“And Leliana. You have returned as well.” Keen eyes flit to their belongings. “Is this a visit or longer lasting?”

“Here to stay.” Sydney replied. “How'd you know I came back? Can all the mages sense eluvians opening?”

He chuckled. “No. Perhaps Vivienne and a handful of others could, if they knew to listen for it. Morrigan is indeed a talented mage. Leliana, Morrigan spoke with me of your ailments. Has your returned eased them?”

“A bit, though I'm rather lightheaded.”

“We prepared a draught in anticipation of the continued pain, but given its lack of testing, I'd rather not use it if you are not incapacitated.” Slender hands tugged at a pouch on his hip, drew out a small vial. “I brought a few common potions for ailments of the head. This one should dull the sensation of a floating skull. Would you like it?”

“Yes, thank you.” Eager hands scooped it up and tossed its contents down Leliana's throat. It hit her stomach like a brick, heavy, sudden, and made her gasp. When she regained her breath, she felt a decided heaviness to her skull, a delightful feeling of being grounded. She yawned. The potion was intensifying her fatigue as well. “I feel as though I could sleep until next winter.”

He coughed. “Well, the _entire_ contents were unnecessary. A third of it is a good dose. I expect you'll want to sleep for some time.”

She would have flushed in embarrassment if she weren't relieved. Oh to be sleepy instead of fighting off incessant pounding within her skull. This was bliss. Grinning, she found Sydney's body and leaned into it. “Maker's breath, I have not felt this well in ages.”

An arm tightened about her waist. Lips pressed to the soft place behind her ear. “I'm glad.”

Oh Sydney. Her wonderful, tender, loving Sydney. Leliana whispered her thanks and appreciation for Sydney's choice and sacrifice. Whatever her response, it was hummed unintelligibly into Leliana's neck. Leliana wanted to protest and demand Sydney repeat herself.

Skyhold's eluvian stole that from her as two figures emerged from its brightly glowing center. One was the familiar witch, the other a tall, broad-shouldered man whose pretty face and prettier eyes earned him no shortage of admirers across Ferelden, Orlais, and Sydney's world. Cullen, and he looked rather unhappy at being herded by Morrigan. Leliana giggled. Who would?

“What in the name of Andraste did you bring me here for, Morrigan?” Cullen's aggrieved voice rang across the gloomy space. “This place is unsettling, to say the least. Wha-” His eyes found them. “L-leliana?” He squinted uncertainly, “Lady Sydney?!”

“Hello, Cullen.” Leliana gave him a weary smirk. “Did you not think I would return victorious?”

“I...” He was clearly gathering himself from the shock of seeing Sydney. And her scars. And possibly at the sight of Leliana snuggled close in the other woman's embrace. “Welcome back. Maker, it is good to see you again!” Hand outstretched, long strides closed the distance, had him grasping their hands with too much strength, laughing and smiling. “It is true then? What you said in your letters? You followed Sydney to her world?”

Leliana smiled at her... at her _fiancée_. Her cheeks warmed at the delicate thought. “I did. It was not easy, and it took quite a bit of luck, but I found her.” Fierce joy had her grinning sharply. “And I put a ring on her finger.”

His eyes went huge and darted down to the precious metal on Sydney's hand. “Andraste's blessing! Congratulations!” Hearty claps met their shoulders with his enthusiasm.

“Thanks, Cullen.” Sydney was blushing and ducking her head.

Leliana yawned, deeper and longer than any of the others. It was quickly echoed by Sydney.

“I brought you here for more than idle chatter.” Morrigan cut in. “These two have need of a discreet exit to a quiet chamber for rest before all of Skyhold descends upon them.”

Cullen nodded. “The bags you had my soldiers carry, are there disguises in them?”

“Yes.” A small flask appeared in Morrigan's hands. “A sleeping potion. Administer it to them. They will awaken in a few candlemarks, none the worse for wear.” She canted her head at Cullen's look of displeasure. “Or would you rather I cast a longer lasting spell upon them from which they'll awaken with grievous headaches?”

He huffed and accepted the potion. He, like Leliana, had experience being under sleeping spells. Waking from them was not a pleasant experience. “No. That won't be necessary.”

The eluvian glowed to life, and Morrigan gestured at it. “Quickly now. Holding this open is not as easy as it looks, and I am far from done with my day.”

Leliana was certain he muttered curses under his breath as he went through. She frowned at the witch. “Really, Morrigan. Must you be abrasive with everyone, even the ones helping you?”

Arrogant yellow eyes slid to her. “And find myself followed by every stray dog that I happen across? I'd rather sleep with goats.”

“Goats are cute,” hummed sleepily from Sydney. “They're assholes, but cute. Like cats.”

Giggles floated out of them both. Morrigan seethed.

Solas eyed the three of them with the same care he might give an enemy fire glyph. He had taken himself aside at Cullen's arrival, watching with that unsettling intensity he was prone to.

“How long will it take?” Sydney asked.

“Not long.” Morrigan let her glance shoot to the eluvian. “But not quite fast enough.” It came back to settle on Leliana. “What of the ring I sent with Sydney? Had it any effect upon your pain?” Morrigan inquired.

She twisted the bit of metal on her thumb, pulled it off, and held it out. “No. I wish it had. Would you like it back?”

It fell almost heavily to Morrigan's hand. “It is empty,” came her surprised bark. “The enchantment has been completely burned away.”

“Has it?” Solas questioned, rising from his seat, eager fascination lining his features. He held out his hand, had the ring dumped in it. “Incredible. It feels as though there was never an enchantment here at all.” He twisted the thing. “Yet I recognize the markings of this enchanter, the scars of lyrium's passage. There is no doubt.” Troubled eyes lifted to Sydney. “I shudder to think what your world would do to a mage, Sydney.”

“Maybe I should invite Corypheus,” growled Sydney. “Save us a lot of trouble. That twisted fuck could shiver and die on my beach, and I'd feed his corpse to the crabs.”

Leliana almost spat out that she knew how and when the Inquisition would defeat Corypheus. She only barely managed to stop herself, though not without a gurgle of noise escaping, earning a particularly rude sneer from Morrigan and a knowing glance from Sydney. It was better left for a full war council. She would also have to keep in mind that Sydney's game had not gotten everything correct. Most details were frighteningly accurate, but there _were_ inconsistencies.

Sydney's arrival, for example.

“Though that is a lovely thought,” Morrigan muttered. “There is little hope for it.”

Sydney muttered under her breath about things she'd like to do to Corypheus, and it brought a smile to Morrigan's face. And Leliana's.

“I do think your potion should have taken effect by now.” Solas said. A graceful wave at the eluvian, and he vanished. He reappeared not two breaths later. “They sleep.”

“Let us go then.” Morrigan ushered them through the portal to a pleasantly warm room.

Both herself and Sydney moaned at the reprieve from the Crossroads' chill. “Morrigan,” Leliana questioned as Cullen gently arranged his soldiers to less unpleasant sleeping positions than the ones they'd fallen to. “What magework have you wrought in here?” There wasn't a fireplace, nor had there ever been one, yet from a corner of the room came the flickers and heat of one.

The witch shrugged. “A simple warming spell.”

“For a room rarely used?” That Morrigan herself was not in to enjoy?

Yellow eyes narrowed and flicked to Sydney, raked over Leliana. “Should I have expected our guests with sunkissed skin and scandalously short dresses to be warm enough here?”

The returned hug from months ago and the gentle touch not a candlemark past curled Leliana's smile. She meant to create a wicked remark to start a sparring match, but, “Thank you,” was all her tired tongue delivered.

Sydney had already taken off her shoes, was standing on the blanket instead of icy stones. There were bundles beside the soldiers, furs spilling out of them. “I owe you, Morri.”

There was a hiss as Leliana, Solas, and Cullen took a breath together in expectation of Morrigan's livid response to the pet name. Morrigan reacted with little more than a flick of her fingers. Whatever happened to the witch who would verbally flay anyone for using anything but her proper name?

Trousers slipped down, and Cullen's face pinked before he about-faced. “Sorry, Cullen. I forgot how proper you are.” Sydney snickered as she unlaced her bodice.

“Yes, well...” trailed off uncomfortably.

“Nightmare gave you those?” Solas hadn't looked away, was examining Sydney's body as it was exposed.

Leliana was already slipping on itchy wool hose. Sydney stood naked except for underwear. Lovely yellow fabric with white lace at the edges. Quite fetching. Leliana was going to miss such luxuries adorning Sydney. And taking them off. Perhaps she could find the funds to have a few bolts of silk fabric delivered come spring and hire a seamstress to create a few delicate items.

“These.” Fingers traced the lines across her face, the crippling scars upon her leg. “I got in the Fade.”

Solas nodded. “My most profound thanks.”

Sydney blinked at his words, the shirt in her hands stalling over her head.

“Without your sacrifice, we would not have our Inquisitor and his anchor to close the rifts.”

She swallowed and yanked clothes on.

“Later, I will gladly study your injuries and see what I can do to give you back some of what was taken.” He paused. “I apologize, but I it will not be much with how old and extensive the injuries are.”

Sydney's face and tone were tight. “It's okay, Solas. The miracle I came back for wasn't for myself.”

Attention fell to Leliana, but she didn't respond. She finished getting dressed and felt weighed down by a bag of gold by the time she was done covering herself in enough wools and furs to survive the winter wind. “Where are we being hidden?”

“Guest quarters.” Cullen answered. “According to Morrigan.”

“Yes. I shall employ an illusion to have you look as a pair of merchants who are currently guesting. They move to and fro quite often. It will be little work to create another illusion of them leaving should anyone be watching too closely.” Morrigan supplied.

Rumors would spread quickly if anyone put together the pieces. No matter. They only wanted a day.

“But that must go.” Solas gestured at Sydney's exotic cane. He toed at a simple wooden staff that was leaning on the wall, ran fingers down it, looked at Sydney's cane. “May I?”

Grudgingly, the cane was passed over. Pale light flowed out of Solas, engulfed the wood, caressed it, brought it alive, made it twist and bend and shed bits of itself until the glow faded. What was left behind was a beautiful piece of art. Solas held the two canes together, nodded in satisfaction at the similarities in basic shape, handed the polished walnut one to Sydney.

She handled it as carefully as a new blade, sighting along the length, gingerly touching its lines, hefting its weight, testing its use. “There are runes on it.”  
“They were there before I reshaped it.” Solas nodded. “A few basic protections against the elements and a hardening rune to withstand a sword. Morrigan chose well I should say.”

An affectionate glance was tossed at Morrigan, who scoffed and waved at them. “Yes. Yes. Let us get on with the business of hiding you.”

The pulsing warmth of the room did not immediately vanish. Morrigan cast an annoyed look at the sleeping soldiers as she passed them to open the door and peer at the corridor. The eluvian was accessible from the main castle, where the great hall and war room and quarters for Inquisitor, advisers, and honored guests were located. But it was also right next to an not yet renovated section that opened right into the icy teeth of the mountains. It whistled in and threatened icicles upon their noses. They could exit through the castle, take protected walkways to other rooms, never be totally exposed to winter's touch. And also walk in front of the eyes of a hundred bored nobles and servants.

No. They would take the route along the exposed sections, the servants' doors to the outside where they would blend in with a thousand other souls in heavy winter coverings, and take the shadowed pathways. Leliana was both glad and annoyed that Skyhold was one of the largest castles she had ever been in. The place could hold well over a thousand souls. Many more once repairs were finished. Even after they moved the ones living in temporary homes within the courtyard to real rooms within the stone walls.

Together, they shivered their way along the familiar paths to the room that Morrigan had prepared, glanced for sign of the crafty witch, but saw only merchants and traders and pilgrims. They ducked into a windowless, interior room where candles glowed and a fire crackled merrily in its hearth.

“Oh, sweet Andraste. There beats a woman's heart within that witch.” Leliana cooed as she dropped the bar over the door. Not all the rooms had locks. Few did, actually. This one looked freshly installed.

“Or it was Keiran.” Sydney hummed around her shivers. “This has been burning for a while. Hot coals. And steaming water.”

Cups sat ready, delicate tea strainers full and sitting within, a satchel of more waiting. Beside that were cool, but fresh bread rolls, salted meat, boiled eggs, and honeyed fruit. The bed had a hot pan between the covers taking the chill away.

“Keiran is a sweet child and mature, but this is the work of one used to hospitality. Morrigan set servants to this job.” Leliana noted. “She cares deeply for you.”

Sydney scowled at the snow they'd tracked in and hung her heavy cloak upon a hook. “She's got a soft spot for you too, you know.”

She did know, as there was one gradually growing beneath her own breast for the surly creature. “Let us have hot tea and,” a yawn interrupted. “Get us to bed.”

Food had been nibbled on, cups were almost empty of tea, Leliana was comfortable in bed, and Sydney was nearly in when there came careful knocks on the door. Both stiffened until, “It's Cullen,” called through the door.

They tiredly looked at each other. If possible, the lines and dark bags on Sydney's face felt worse than her own. Guilt struck Leliana. How much sleep had Sydney lost troubling over her? Leliana made to rise, but the sound of wood tapping on stone said Sydney was already moving. She tossed the fur cloak about her shoulders and opened the door to Cullen, who was alone in the corridor except for the two bundles he carried.

“I wasn't sure if you would want any of this before you decide to present yourselves.” He set the lumps of fur and wool on the ground beside the messy table and they unfurled to reveal Sydney's beach sack and blanket and sword. “I did not think you would already be abed. I apologize for intruding.”

“It is alright, Cullen. My thanks.” Leliana found the energy to smile.

“Yea.” Sydney yawned. “It's cool.”

Cullen's boots scratched over the stone, and he ran a hand through his hair. “Do you want me to keep your return to myself? I know you wish time to rest, and I respect that, I merely thought to bear the tidings to Josephine and Cassandra. You know they've worried over you.”

Thoughts were difficult to wrangle together.

“Sure, Cullen. As long as they don't bother us for a solid 24 hours.” Sydney answered for them.

Leliana felt more than saw Cullen's confusion at Sydney's terminology. “Not until sundown tomorrow, Cullen.”  
“Yea. That.” A jaw-popping yawn. “I bet we'll wake up for breakfast and go right back to sleep after.”

“Ah. Yes. Shall I bring you something at dawn? Or,” the contents of the sack were eyed, “Are your own provisions sufficient?”

Sydney leaned on the table, eyelids half-closed. “Mm. Hot breakfast. Bring us.”

Understanding chuckles rumbled. “Very well. Makers blessings and good afternoon.”

“Goodnight,” was mumbled as Sydney closed the door. The cloak slid from her shoulders as she rounded the bed, and she slithered under the covers, burrowing deep and falling into immediate sleep. Leliana managed to finish her tea before joining Sydney in oblivion.

 

 


	32. Such Honor in a Cripple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You aren't mistaken. You've seen this chapter before. What happened is that I inserted an entirely new chapter early in the story. Chapter 6. It doesn't change the story, but it gives it more depth. Chapters 1-8 have also received a good amount of editing. If you read totally through, you might see a couple inconsistencies. Like, I decided to make Josiah Puerto Rican instead of white, but haven't had a chance to edit later chapters for it. There's a few other small things I want to edit. Eventually. I'll let you know if/when that happens
> 
> I'm never adding a chapter in the middle again. Omg. Way too much work with a fic this long.  
> But, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Happy New Year!

“ _Once your sacrifices are made, is there no end? Are you leashed until the day you die or lyrium takes your mind away?”_

_-Commander Cullen Rutherford_

 

Sydney was right. They emptied their night's water and broke their fast with Cullen's sunrise delivery and crawled right back into bed. Only the fire's nearly dead embers pulled Sydney out before she was ready. Leliana came awake to low curses and the sound of iron scraping stone. Kindling was fed to the handful of surviving red coals by the shivering woman, then lumps of good fuel, was tended until flames licked hungrily and persistently. She jumped into the bed and stuck icy cold toes to Leliana's leg.

“Sydney!” shrieked out as she jerked away.

“I'm cold.” She pouted, evil toes growing closer until Leliana had no bed left to escape, was forced to endure the torture. Almost. With a look of pure horror, Sydney shifted away. “Oh shit, Leli. I'm sorry. Your head.”

Didn't hurt. It had felt airy and barely attached to her body since she'd awoken, yet was blissfully free of that horrid pain which had been plaguing her for weeks. “Sydney.” She reached across the bed to catch a hand. The sudden movement made her swallow against a bout of dizziness. “I am well.” She protested.

Disbelief flared in Sydney's gaze. She'd seen Leliana flinch.

“Not completely, I will not argue, but I am better.” She discovered that the hand she held had a ring upon it. The engagement ring. Her heart swelled, tried to flutter from her chest, and she pressed the hand to her breast to prevent her heart's escape. “Thanks to the valiant efforts of my betrothed, I am certain even this dizziness will fade soon.”

Firelight danced in sweet amber eyes. “I'm glad.” The smile beneath was nearly hidden by shadow, an ethereal treasure that Leliana wanted to store away in the strongest lockbox, to bring out and admire whenever she wanted.

They curled close, basking in the glow of success, sharing morning kisses and enjoying the simplicity of being lazy together. The fire was ready for more fuel when raps on the door called them to the day.

“Put clothes on before opening the door.” Morrigan called. “Or I shall toss your midday meal to the pigs.”

As they had actually worn the long night gowns for their warmth, Sydney simply added the weight of a cloak before bidding the witch enter. “Hi, Morrigan.”

She carried a heavy pot which thudded to the table, several bowls and a basket beside before she flicked a wrist, lighting fresh candles and turning to scrutinize them. “You slept well,” wasn't a question.

“We did.” Leliana replied anyway. She smiled as Sydney draped a blanket around her shoulders so she didn't have to rise from the bed.

As Sydney served portions into bowls, Morrigan interrogated them on Leliana's well-being, then Sydney's. The meal quieted the room. Wooden spoons scraped wooden bowls. Mugs of tea tapped the table. Cloth rustled. Fire crackled.

Morrigan revealed a flask of honey mead, poured good measures into their empty mugs. “Drink this first.” She held out a vial to Leliana. “'Tis the same as what Solas gave you yesterday. I will tell Cullen and the others that they may hound you on the morrow. A third is a dose. It should suffice, unless you wish to sleep obscenely long again.”

Neither of them argued against a full day of quiet. Leliana decided to try the proper dose, grimaced at the unpleasantness, washed it down with mead.

“Cullen will bring an evening meal.”

Leliana found she was antsy for the company of her closest friends. “Oh, do let Cass and Josie bring us dinner.”

Morrigan frowned.

“Please, Morrigan.” Begging Morrigan for time with her friends? When had she become the witch's ward? “I will not let them stay more than a candlemark.”

Morrigan turned to Sydney, who was in the middle of sipping mead. There came the distinct sound of choking.

“Um.” Sydney coughed, wiped at her mouth. “I'll throw them out if they don't use their indoor voices?”

Mead went down Morrigan's throat. “Very well.”

Leliana very nearly squealed like a child. “Thank you, Morrigan.”

The witch sighed, drained the last of her mead, and sighed. “Do not overexert yourself, Leliana. Not physically. Not mentally. I have no wish to aid you in recovery from preventable foolishness. Once is quite enough. You will not be returning to your duties as spymaster for more than a few hours in the day or sparring with anyone until I am certain you've recovered from whatever Sydney's world inflicted upon you.” She rose, cast a slotted gaze down her nose. “Say yes.”

Around a bemused smile, Leliana did.

Morrigan huffed and swept out of the door, but not before dropping one more gift on the table. A bar of Orlesian rose soap wrapped in washing cloths.

“I don't stink yet, do I?” Sydney giggled.

“No.” She allowed. “But I'm quite sure that I do. I haven't the foggiest when I bathed last.”

Darkness pinched Sydney's eyes. “It's been a few days.” She poked at the bucket of water their room had been provided. It didn't slosh much. “Not really enough.”

Crisp raps sounded on the door.

“Morrigan forget something?” Sydney asked.

“Water delivery!” An unfamiliar voice called with a western Ferelden burr. “Lady Morrigan said to leave it in the hall, but I'd hate for it to freeze.” More raps.

“Be right there!” Sydney called back.

“Sydney!” Leliana hissed. “I thought we wanted a day?”

“Please.” She snorted. “Like I have a familiar face?” Scars were waved at. “Hide under the blankets.” She adjusted the cloak and combed her hair to cover much of her face. Her cane was leaned heavily on, stooping her back, and she slowly opened the door. “Oh thank you.” A ragged voice far from Sydney's usual clear tone greeted the shocked servant that Leliana recognized as a poor farmer's son whose land had been razed by the civil war. She couldn't help peeking from beneath the blankets. Maker take her curiosity.

“Want I bring it in?” He gave Sydney's humble visage little interest. Understandable given he was mostly blind from the same fires that had destroyed his family's farm. Terrible fate for a boy who hadn't even hit the changes of manhood. Or perhaps not so terrible. He was young enough to learn to manage.

Sydney nodded. When the boy didn't immediately step in, she frowned.

“Sorry, mistress. The war took most of my sight; the right eye is worse. Did you nod?”

Chagrin tightened her features, and she cleared her throat. “I did.”

The boy carefully entered, one hand feeling for obstacles, the other holding a full bucket. He set it beside the almost empty one, tapped at it and cocked his ear for the slosh. “Shall I pour what's left into your kettle, mistress?”

“I can manage.”

“I'm almost blind, mistress, but I can see your cane. If you put the kettle next to the bucket, I can pour without spilling a drop, I swear it.” He smiled winningly.

She did, and he was good to his word.

His smile grew bigger. “See, mistress. Not a drop. Will there be anything else?”

Sydney coughed. “No. Thanks.”

He waited half a breath. Another breath. The smile on his cinnamon-skinned face drooped a bit. Oh. The lad expected a bent copper for his good service. Would Sydney realize, oh yes. There it was. Panic and shame was lining her face. Her gaze darted. It truly wasn't a terrible thing, but with Sydney's history, she tipped those who served her enormously well.

“Good afternoon, mistress.” The boy made to leave.

“Wait. I don't have any coin. I'm sorry, lad, but I have...” she bit her lip. “How would your mother like a lump of good rose soap?”

“Oh, mistress, that's too much.” He was shaking his head even as Sydney was cutting a generous bit of soap from the bar. He knew that those important enough to get a real room as a guest would have soap worth its weight in honey. And a small pot of pure honey was at least a couple silvers, more in winter.

“No. It's not. Solstice is almost here, isn't it? Let me be generous.” The attempt at sounding like an old woman had been forgotten.

The boy's face said he was wondering at the change, at who he was serving, where her accent was from. Surely he knew every guest he served, would know that this room had been empty the days before, that no new guests had arrived in weeks. “Mistress, it's too much. I earn wages carrying water and emptying pots.”

Such honor in a cripple... Leliana caught herself.

“Okay. I get it. No charity. How about a trade?”

He stopped trying to escape. “Mistress?”

“You've seen my cane, lad. I could use a strong pair of legs to fetch things for me.”

Interest shaped his face. “I'm strong, mistress, can make it anywhere in Skyhold, but I'm not always fast.”

Sydney chuckled. “When I need fast, I'll shriek for a guard. What's your name, lad?”

“Weylon, mistress.” A common Ferelden name. “Farmer Brevan's my father. Well, former farmer. Our land's all ashes now. S'how I lost my sight, mistress. Mage fire.”

“I could use more water in the kettle, Weylon. And another bucket's worth. I'm itching for a wash. I'm sure tomorrow I'll have many small jobs that could add up to a bit of soap.” Though he couldn't see it, Sydney grinned winningly. Surely he heard it in her voice. Leliana did.

Weylon considered it, nodded sharply. “I'll fill the kettle and hang it for you, mistress. I can see the hook.” And he did. Not half a candlemark later, he was back with another bucket, poured out the steaming water into the wash basin and refilled the kettle. Only then did he allow the soap to be put in his hands. “Thank you, mistress. When would you like me back?”

“After your morning rounds tomorrow.”

When he was gone, Leliana thrust back the blankets. “Whatever will you find for him to do then?”

“Not sure,” came the lazy shrug. “I'll figure out something, and you can't have him. You've got enough little birds listening for secrets.”

Not her directly. Not most of them. They reported to one of Leliana's local agents, who filtered their stories for what was worthwhile. Two of them Leliana found the time to seek out in the gardens and hidden places. They were exceptionally good at listening. And orphaned. Leliana made sure they had hot meals several times a week and good socks and shoes without holes. She made a mental note to check on them soon.

“I suppose I could allow you one.” Leliana laughed.

“I don't remember the last time you laughed.” Melancholy whispered. “It's nice to hear again.”

“Most likely, long before I last washed.” She twisted, put her legs out of the warmth of the bed, and set feet to icy stones. “Andraste's ashes!” squeaked her outrage at the unpleasantness. “I'd not missed the cold floor.”

“Yea.” Agreement glowered at the offending floor. “Come on, let's get you less smelly before the water gets any colder.”

Leliana's wash was pleasantly full of attentive kisses and caresses. Medicated lethargy wouldn't allow more, yet it was enough. Even simple embraces and touches had been denied them by the migraines. Sydney gently massaged her scalp and rinsed her short hair, toweled Leliana dry, and tucked her back into bed where they lazed on the pillows and talked of their expectations of the coming days. They discussed keeping Sydney's return a secret for a while, for a very _long_ while, or not at all. Schedules and duties were considered, especially what Sydney would do. She could help train new recruits, help at the tavern, become Trevelyan's official fourth adviser...

“I was a bar manager, Leli. Bar manager and dancer, occasionally dance teacher. Sure I went on quests and stuff before, but I don't have a brain for strategies and politics like you guys. It'd be better if I worked with the new recruits or something like that.”

Nug shit. Sydney could read people and crowds as well as, if not better, than herself or Josie. Trevelyan had been making choices and decisions based on what he thought Sydney would approve of, when it came to matters like taking in refugees, building roads, signing trade contracts. He listened to his advisers because of Sydney. Between what Leliana had witnessed herself and what Cassandra told her, not to mention a thousand reports, she knew how Sydney's strength had molded their young Inquisitor. Sydney had much to offer at the war table, advising and debating with Trevelyan _and_ the other advisers. She was brilliant and capable. Leliana silently chuckled. It wasn't simple adoration for her betrothed, it was fact.

“I think it would be both amusing and useful to keep your return quiet and let you muck about Skyhold for a few days.” Leliana changed the topic. She'd need her fellow advisers' support to win that argument. It could hold for a few days.

“You think so, huh?”

“Yes. I think you'd enjoy it as well, being the mystery who appeared from nowhere, in the middle of winter. It would give the people a chance to create their own ideas of how you returned. Did you crawl out that witch's mirror? Fall from the sky? Ride in on a shadow?” She thrilled at the ideas. “Of course, we'll have agents seed a few extra. Come spring, there will be a hundred stories about your return.”  
There was a smile, yet it faded and darkness stole over Sydney's gaze. “And what if I can't use the fire anymore? What use will all your stories and rumors be then?”

Oh, her sweet, fragile Sydney. “That you can feel the sword's magic is evidence enough you can yet wield it.”

Sydney didn't argue. She also didn't release the doubt caged within.

“When shall we have our wedding? Wintermarch?”

“Our wedding?” yelped out. “It's only Haring! Wintermarch is next month! Why would you want a winter wedding?” Her tone lowered to an irritated grumble.

“Why would I want to wait any longer than necessary to exchange vows with you?” Leliana returned.

Sydney groaned and sat up higher on the pillows. “At least give me time to find a jeweler and order a ring, dammit.”

“I'm only teasing, my love. A wedding on Wintersend is traditional.” Though she'd want it done before their next clash with Corypheus, especially if Sydney rejoined Trevelyan on the battlefield.

“Leli?”  
“Hm?”

“You said my room and stuff was left alone? They left it in your hands, and then you got the dream?”  
Leliana studied her face. It didn't give away her thoughts. “Yes. I couldn't bear going in there and admitting you were gone from my life, and then Andraste sent the dreams. I left instructions with Josie that if I didn't return by summer to handle both of our material possessions.”

A sigh whuffed out, relief smoothing lines. “Good. That means I still have some money to spend.”

Because Sydney wouldn't accept a purse for not working, and she wouldn't want to spend Leliana's. Maker give her patience. “You realize, _mon petit poisson_ , that getting married means whatever is mine is yours and vice versa, no?”

“I'm not buying a ring for you with your own money, Pookie.”

Leliana still didn't understand that particular endearment nor why Sydney had recently started using it. Why Sydney couldn't use the pet names she'd heard others in her world enjoy was beyond her. Honey or sweetheart or beautiful or _mami_ or love or kitten or the vast variety of French ones were lovely. No. Sydney called her Pookie or freckles or Princess Stabbity. Honestly, it was a bit disappointing. Leliana rather enjoyed a good deal of endearments. Perhaps now was a good time to bring up her minor complaint?

“Sydney, I'm curious. Did your parents have special names for each other? Honey or _amour_ perhaps?”

“Sure.” Amusement tickled her expression. “Mom called dad her _petit chiot_ and he called her his cranky oyster.” She grinned widely at Leliana's sigh of resignation. It was now clear why Sydney didn't use traditional endearments. “You don't like Pookie, do you?”

“I don't understand it! What does it mean?” She groused.

Sydney laughed. “It has lots of context, but I first heard it from Garfield. A big, fat, lazy cat. He had a stuffed Teddy bear called Pookie, and he loved him. Garfield's a kids cartoon.”

Cartoon. Moving drawings. Teddy bears were children's toys, soft, stuffed replicas of bears, though there were stuffed animals of every kind. Even snakes and fish and insects and _diseases_ , several of which had adorned Sydney's bedroom. Sydney was strange even in the world she came from. Leliana sent yet another prayer to the Maker for patience and understanding with her eccentric lover.

“Look, I adored that cartoon. Garfield loved his Pookie, and I love my soft, huggable, adorable Leli.” The blankets shifted. “If it really bothers you, I'll stop using it.”

“No.” Leliana faced her. “Not truly. It more baffles me. You are an odd fish, Sydney, but you are my odd fish and I love you.”

“Blub blub, _mon amour_.”

They fell to giggles and soft kisses and lighter topics for the next few candlemarks. Eventually, they yawned into a nap that they woke from to stoke the fire, set the kettle to heat, and freshen up before Cassandra and Josephine arrived. Names were whispered, tears sparkled, and Josephine clutched at Leliana, gentle as a feather, then with desperate force when Leliana assured her she would not break. Over Josephine's shoulder, Leliana watched Sydney and Cassandra's much shorter, though equally fierce embrace.

They pressed kisses to each others cheeks, hugged again, then released for Cassandra to offer her surprisingly not-bone-crushing welcome. “Congratulations.” Cassandra said in her ear. “Not only did you find her and bring her back, you put a ring on her finger.”

Josie hadn't yet taken notice. Not even after having exchanged kisses and a short embrace with Sydney. Perhaps the tears streaming down her cheeks had blinded her to a detail she would have noted instantly otherwise. To miss such a detail for awe of Leliana's return? She could not be a dearer friend.

“That stubborn ass didn't make it easy.” Leliana complained.

Cass snorted. “I do not doubt it. She is as willful as you.”

“What're you two muttering about over there?” Sydney butted in.

“How difficult you make things.” Leliana retorted.

Sydney grinned. “Fair enough.”

“Andraste's flames!” Josephine sputtered. Finally. “That is what I think it is, yes?”

Leliana's chest puffed. “If you mean that token of my claim on our wayward knight, then yes.”

“When did I become a prize to be claimed?” pouted Sydney.

“Oh, there is so much I want to hear! How, when? A single candlemark is not nearly enough time to share a meal _and_ catch up on your adventure.” Josephine fretted.

“It is not.” Cassandra agreed. “But I doubt the witch will trouble herself to come down here and pull us away should we stay longer.”

Sydney's shoulders squared, her spine straightening as she took a breath. “Actually,” came out in a low tone meant to be authoritative but gentle. “The time limit is for Leli's health. I know she wants to catch up as much as you do, but it's better not to push too fast.”

Both women blinked, glanced at each other, confusion plain. “Your health?” was demanded.

“Morrigan didn't explain?” Leliana frowned.

“She made a passing comment that the journey was stressful,” Josie's gaze was dancing over Leliana, looking for signs of sickness. “Nothing more. But, the servants were a tad too close to the doors when we exited my office. Perhaps she was merely being discrete.”

“What is wrong, Leliana?” Cassandra demanded in her blunt way.

“Let us sit down.” She waved at the table.

Sydney poured tea, ignoring the fine bottle of wine that had been brought. An excellent vintage from an renowned vineyard that would probably set Leliana's head to throbbing or spinning or worse. Had Morrigan's mead? She hadn't thought about it in the giddy rush of being home and free of the migraines. Those thoughts made her even more appreciative of Sydney's supportive restraint despite her usual enthusiasm for drinking. Cassandra's brow rose at the way the wine was set aside. Josie noticed as well.

Explanations weren't given until food had been served. Lovely baked squash and vegetables and tender beans with Antivan spices. A dish Leliana always enjoyed, that she knew Josie must have ordered special for this evening, that she profusely thanked her friend for as she moaned around her first few bites. When the giggles died down, Sydney and Leliana took turns giving a condensed explanation of the migraines and her apparent recovery, of the mages' treatments.

“To think a non-mage would be so deeply affected by the lack of magic. Word of this will likely begin a great deal of discussion among arcane scholars.” Josephine mused. Her head canted. “If we allow the world to know about this.”

Cassandra stabbed at a chunk of squash. “It could be troublesome, you mean, if the people learn Andraste's Knight is from a world beyond the Fade.”

“Hm. Yes. Theological scholars would have quite a bit to say about this as well,” was the agreement. “Knowing too much about Sydney and where she comes from is dangerous, especially in these dark times. We have quite enough on our plates already.”

“The people will wonder.”

Leliana spent the rest of their time outlining her idea for rumors of Sydney's return. Varric's assistance was brought up, how the master storyteller would be useful. Josephine suggested Sera, a bit darkly as she had not given up her grudge for the bucket of water, the embarrassment and political leverage it had cost her. Ideas and plans blossomed as their meal slowly vanished from their plates.

Sydney remained fairly quiet until, “Leli,” pressed softly into their excited discussion.

“Hm?”

“A candlemark has passed.”

Her lips parted in protest.

Concern knit Sydney's brow, the too-recent memory of sleepless nights clear in the deep lines.

“It has been a joy to see you, my friends.” Leliana pushed back from the table.

“Yes.” Cassandra was the first to return to her feet. She grasped Leliana's elbow, squeezed delicately. “But I will not beg trouble by overstaying. Get your rest, Leliana. Sydney, you as well.”

Josephine stole another hug before she exited. The bottle of wine went with her, as did Leliana's energy. She found her shoulders and eyelids drooping, body taxed by the efforts of socializing, head adrift from the excitement. Strong hands were at her hips before she realized she'd been swaying.

“Three steps, Leli, and you're back in bed.” Those hands guided her safely. “There we go.” She was tucked in and barely heard the light sounds of dishes being gathered and set outside the door for the servants to collect. Once her head stopped spinning enough to turn her head with any measure of safety, she watched Sydney bar the door, stoke the fire, and wash her face. She dampened a rag and did the same for Leliana. “How's the head?”

Her answer was to cup Sydney's cheek and smile adoringly at her. “Still attached.”

“Pain?” Those lines of concern were marring her elegant face.

“Not much. Nothing like before, my love. I'm glad you kept track of the time.”

The lines said she wasn't convinced.

“The world is trying to spin away from me, Sydney, not crush me. Could you bring me Solas' potion?”

Sydney did, and Leliana groused about how sour and unpleasant the stuff was. Washing it down with the dregs of her tea didn't much help. Sydney chuckled. “If you're well enough to complain about the flavor, I guess I don't need to wory.”

“It is truly wretched, worse than that Budweiser piss your country tries to pass as beer.” Leliana made a face.

Her nose wrinkled in agreement. “Gross.”

A yawn interrupted more complaining. Mellow singing did away with thoughts of anything else. Leliana closed her eyes and allowed her world to shrink to the sound of Sydney's tender voice singing what Lady Nelson had once explained was an ancient lullaby from her homeland. Lovely. Absolutely lovely. The lullaby melted to a song Leliana couldn't immediately place, and that melted into another and another until Leliana drifted asleep on the gentle waves of sound.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> petit chiot – little puppy


	33. Hearing, Seeing, Even Smelling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy 2018! May the next year bring you the opportunities and dreams you've been working toward :)

“ _The Inquisition is a sight to behold, a command of legions, hearts, and minds. It is worthy, your Inquisitor is worthy, and my masters are pleased. I will bring my wares, and together we will extend your reach ever further. Now you trade not in just treasure, but in will.”_

 

_-Farris the Representative_

* * *

 

 

Morning brought Cullen to their room with breakfast and word that if they were up to it, the war room would be full that afternoon to welcome the two women home. He and the other advisers were prepared to escort them. They'd all wear the same drab cloaks, Morrigan would cast an illusion spell, and they'd go together.

“Or we could just meet you there.” Sydney countered.

The man looked a little heartbroken at losing the chance to play around a bit.

“It'll take forever for my crippled ass to get up those stairs. Let me just take it at my own pace, get there early, snack on an apple while I wait for people to show up. We can sit in Josephine's office and be all creepy and mysterious, pretending we're talking to her then go in and spook everyone. It'll be great.”

“If you are certain.” He most definitely did not pout. Nope. Not him.

Sydney managed not to roll her eyes. “You can carry me if you want.”

Laughter twinkled from Leliana's composed expression. Cullen flushed.

“Or Leli, but I can't promise she won't bite. She's awfully barbaric like that.”

“I would do no such thing.” Leliana affected a dignified hauteur, very Vivienne-esque. “To have Skyhold tittering about the beautiful commander carrying me like the chivalrous knight he is would be grand. You may cast your deliciously muscled arms about me, Commander Cullen.” Eyelashes batted.

Annoyance tightened flustered lips. “L-leliana!”

“That list of admirers you found yourself while at the Winter Palace is in my office strongbox.” She grinned wickedly. “It has proven rather useful. A bit of scandal would be just marvelous. There are a few who I'd love to...”

“Leliana! Stop. Why must you and Josephine always find ways to harass me?”

“It is too easy, my dear, flustered friend.”

He sighed. “I think life under Knight-Commander Meredith was easier.”

Her mischief remained unrepentant. “Had she not gone mad with red lyrium, I would have considered allowing her to top me as well.”

“ _Leliana!_ ” practically shrieked out of the man.

“I wonder if Isabella ever tried with her?” mused Sydney. “I'm going to ask Varric later.”

Leliana laughed. “I'm sure she did, if only for the challenge.”

Cullen huffed out of the room, leaving the door open in his haste.

“I think we upset him.” Sydney deadpanned.

“Better to leave because he could not stand our company than with disappointment we would not play his game.”

That was awfully cold. Didn't Leli think of him as a friend? “I really don't put Cullen and playing games, well anything besides chess, in the same sentence.”

Sharp blue settled on her. Leliana sighed and softened. “The man has no talent for games and maneuvers outside of the battlefield or chess table, I agree. He's a bumbling fool when it comes to words and subtle politics. That made him blind to the unease you felt at his offer.”

“Actually, it wasn't unease for me.” Sydney waved it off. Playing the cloak and dagger thing with the usually too serious advisers sounded fun.

Longer and deeper than before, Leliana sighed. “You worried for me, my health and my pride.”

Duh.

“I...”

Light clattering outside the door had Sydney up and moving almost as fast as one without a crippled limb. She flung open the door to hiss, “Weylon! Come here.”

Behind her came the noise of blankets rustling and Leliana groaning in annoyance. Poor woman. Betrothed to an impetuous ass.

“Yes, mistress?” He jogged from his cart of breakfast dishes and empty buckets. Farther down the corridor, another cart was being pushed, that one with chamber pots, and Sydney thanked the Maker that the same person wasn't handling both fresh and soiled water.

“Have you gotten orders about my midday meal already?”

“Yes, mistress. Lady Morrigan said for me to bring it here.”

“Change of plans.” Sydney decided. “Take it to the ambassador's office.” She let out a dramatic whine, “I have need of her assistance, and it'll take me ages to get up there. I'll eat while I'm waiting on her invitation. Will you do that?”

Weylon nibbled his tongue for a moment. “Shall I wait with it, mistress? I wouldn't want anything to happen to your meal in such a busy place.”

She managed not to reach out and ruffle his hair in a fit of relief at his thoughtfulness. Servants were apt to make off with an unmanned tray of food, whether to eat or return to the kitchen, especially one sitting outside the Lady Josephine's office. It would be unseemly.

“You're a smart lad, Weylon. Please, wait with it for me. Oh, and one more thing. Would you run a message back to Lady Morrigan? Tell her plans have changed and I'll meet her there.”

“Plans have changed and you will meet her there.” He repeated.

“Good. Thank you, Weylon.”

His head bobbed. “Mistress.”

“Don't trust Cullen to deliver the message?” Leliana teased when she dropped the lock.

“That and training him.”

Keen interest followed her progress into the room, stayed on her as she plopped in her chair.

“I'm getting used to having a little bird of my own.” Not quite the right euphemism. She had no intention of using the kid as a spy.

Leliana knew that and gave an indulgent smile anyway. “A noble bird for a noble knight.”

 

Halfway up to the main hall, Sydney wished she was fucking bird. Crows mocked her from their airy perches high in their tower. Assholes. She puffed at the frigid air trying to ice up her lungs and checked on Leli. She'd stopped to rest, not clutching her head, but her hands were tight on her knees. Was it elevation issues on top of the return to magic? Shit.

Sydney touched Leliana's arm. “Head spinning?”

A yes rasped out.

Nobles on their way up frowned at their hooded faces. At least this was a side route, less traveled, with the tall inner wall to both block the wind and lean against.

“I could probably go find Cullen, tell him I wasn't joking about carrying you.” She offered both in jest and seriousness.

There came a soft negative and they waited another five minutes before rising. Not ten steps later, Sydney was reaching out to catch a swaying body. “Freckles?”

“I...” was enough to tell Sydney that Leliana wasn't moving any time soon.

“Can you sit?”

“Um?”

Sydney fretted. The stairs were mostly scraped of snow, yet still slippery and with her crippled leg already trembling, she wasn't sure if she could safely lower Leliana to a step despite the help of the inner wall.

“Serah?” A man in a wool coat riddled with tears and loose threads stopped at their feet. “Are you well? May I offer help?”

Sydney recognized his Free Marcher accent and beak of a nose. A stablehand who'd taught her about grooming Epona. Dunner. He was a good man. And built like the beasts he cared for, could probably carry Leliana in his arms and Sydney on his broad back all the way to Denerim.

“Freckles, can Dunner get you the rest of the way up? He's got steady feet and giant shoulders. Let him carry you.” Sydney pleaded.

“Very well.” Leliana didn't argue, didn't even open her eyes.

Dammit. They should've waited a whole week, should've waited until Leli's head stopped dancing of its own accord. “She's having a dizzy spell, Dunner.” Sydney informed as she passed Leli's weight to him. “Block of ice fell on her head last Tuesday. Hasn't felt right since.”

His face pinched. He knew about blows to the head. Stablehands were trained to watch out for horse hooves for exactly that reason. Concussions were nothing to sneeze at. “Serah, I'll be picking you up now. I'll get you safe to the top.”

Leliana was a rag doll in his arms. He ascended slowly and carefully enough that Sydney had no trouble keeping up.

“Are you here to wait for an audience with the Inquisitor? I can find a seat for her.” Dunner indicated the busy hall.

“No. We have an appointment with the ambassador.”

His brow shot up in curiosity, gaze traveling their dull clothes, nothing like what normally would be seen in the august presence of Lady Montilyet. “I'll get you to her office.”

There Weylon sat cross-legged, tray of food in his lap. He skittered to his feet at the approach of Sydney's cane. “Mistress!”

“Weylon. Follow us in.” She ignored decorum and swept into Josephine's office without knocking or waiting. The young ambassador jerked at their entrance, pen scratching unpleasantly off parchment, voice squeaking. Her assistant jumped at them, waving hands and squawking about etiquette and appointments. Dunner stood in the doorway with a look of minor terror on his face. “Put freckles in a chair, Dunner.”

The man gulped and stepped in. “M'lady,” muttered out of him as he approached the desk and slid Leliana into a cushioned chair.

Josephine jumped up. “Yvette. I've been expecting these guests.”  
“You have?” Yvette was scandalized. She nodded quickly at Josephine's certain expression. “Yes, ambassador.”

Dunner trembled where he stood.

“Thanks, Dunner.” Sydney made sure to catch his eye. “I owe you.”

Possible recognition flashed across his pale face. “I'll be going, messeres. M'lady.” He bowed himself out, nearly knocking Weylon over on his way.

“Oh. Does this boy have your meal? Over there, boy. On the side table by the fire.” Josephine directed. “Yes. Thank you.”

Sydney poured Leliana water, set the cup to her lips.

“Yvette. I don't think you've taken your midday meal.” Josephine gestured at the door.

“I have not.” A brief curtsy at the polite dismissal. Curiosity seared over the ambassador's guests. “I'll be going, ambassador.”

They were abruptly alone with the sounds of the crackling fire and Josephine's worry. “Andraste's ashes, is she alright?”

“She could use another of Solas' potions.” Sydney grumbled. “Cullen brought more, but I didn't think to bring...”

A vial appeared in Leliana's hand. She dumped half the contents into her mouth.

“Why didn't you drink it twenty minutes ago, dammit.” Sydney griped, not expecting an answer, not getting one. She went for the tray, transferred bread, cheese, and pickled beets to a plate, grabbed a fork, and flopped to a free chair to stuff her face. Tea was prepared by Josephine, offered in dainty teacups, and without more to do, she fussed with her papers.

When a servant arrived with Josephine's much warmer meal, hoods were tossed over heads, and Josephine hurried the servant away. “I am sure that the Inquisitor will be stepping through within half a candlemark. Of one thing you can be sure of, it's that he will show up early to a meeting.”

“His one saving grace aside from the anchor before Sydney arrived.” Leliana rasped.

“Hm. Yes. How much he has changed in the past year,” came Josephine's agreement around a bite of seared ham.

Sydney decided that Leli was probably ready for food and put a plate together for her, added more to her own empty one.

“My thanks.”

She dropped a light kiss to her temple and returned to her seat.

“Oh my,” giggled out of Josephine. “I'm sorry. It is a bit of a shock to see Leliana accepting a sweet gesture and a casual kiss without argument or planning her return move in the Game.”

Weight seemed to appear on Sydney's finger, and she wiggled it, stopped when she felt the smooth brush of metal. Oh. The ring. Josephine was staring when Sydney lifted her sight from it. “She's going to vow to put up with me and my kisses for the rest of my life.”

Josephine's smooth jaw settled on knuckles, and a charmed smile beamed at them. “What a terrible fate, I'm sure.”

“It's manageable, except when Sydney wishes to spend hours baking between an unforgiving sun and broiling sand.” Leliana groused.

“It's called sunbathing, you uncultured swine.”

“Sun _baking_ , dragon spawn.”

They continued to quibble, much to Josephine's delight, her soft giggles and dancing eyes filling the spaces between their grumblings.

The door creaked open, Josephine's face shifted to a professional mask, and Leliana tossed her hood over her hair. Feeling miffed and juvenile, Sydney merely lowered her cup and tossed her hair to show off her scars. Trevelyan offered a polite greeting to Josephine. His gaze paused on the mystery of Leliana's covered head, then bulged at Sydney. He swallowed and hurried past on his way to the war room.

Giggles burst among them. They stayed relatively the same, nibbling cheese and sipping tea, as the rest of the Inner Circle and advisers made their way through. Sydney's heart thudded at seeing, hearing, even smelling her old friends. Perfumes, the scents of tavern and horse and leather and armor, and the undertone of bodies that didn't bathe every day coiled in her nose, reminded her of their journeys, laughing around campfires, trudging through sand and swamp and every manner of horrible terrain, fighting back to back, and keeping each other sane.

Several of them paused, lingered on their study of Sydney's face, but didn't ask questions. Cole outright stared until Morrigan swept in, sneered him into movement.

“I'm not going to hide.” Sydney announced. The mere thought of keeping herself from her friends, the life she'd been dreaming about for months was suddenly stifling. No.

“An interesting new person in the middle of winter would have every curious nose chasing answers.” Josephine nodded.

“Good.” Leliana scratched at her neck. “You hiding would mean us not sharing a bed. It's too cold.”

Damn, these wools were itchy. Sydney scratched at her own neck. “Only want me for my body heat. I see how it is.”

“As much as I enjoy being audience to your romantic quibbles, the others are waiting.” Wood scraped stone, and Josephine stood. “Are you ready?”

“Go ahead, Josie. We'll be along in a moment.” Freckled hands waved her off.

“Very well.” A nod and she left, her ruffles swishing as she went.

Sydney was up. “Grand dramatic entrance?”

“But of course,” accepted the hand to help her rise. She stalled, expression careful. “The potion is working,” reassured them both. Leliana's hood went up. Their hands linked as they made their way to the war room. They paused at the two guards outside, who simply turned and pushed the doors open though their gazes wanted to know who they were, what they were up to, why they were allowed in the war room.

Shock and curiosity stared at them from around the massive table. Glances darted to the calm advisers when the doors closed behind the hooded figure and the scarred cripple.

“What is this?” Vivienne was the first to ask. “Who are these people to join our council?”

“Surely you haven't forgotten me already, Vivienne?” Leliana swept her hood and cloak off, tossed it over a chair. “I have been told I'm rather memorable.”

Gasps and chuckles sounded.

“Leliana? We were told you left to chase a lead to Sydney.” Vivienne took a breath, gaze shifting to Sydney, raking over her changed visage. “This is...?”

The room stilled.

“Well, I'm not the queen of England. That's for fucking sure.” Sydney huffed. “I can't believe I let freckles drag me off my beach to come back here.” She shivered under her many layers and found a seat near the roaring fire, glared at the canvas-covered hole in the wall. Why hadn't that been fixed yet? Or had it been and simply, uh, broken? “I hate the cold.”

“Tiger!”

“Sydney!”

Bull vaulted over the table to run at her and scoop her into his tree-trunk arms for a crushing hug until Varric kicked him in the shin and berated him for trying to kill their freshly returned friend.

“Whoops.” He chuckled as he let her feet touch the ground. “Sorry, Syd.”

“You big idiot.” Varric glared up at him as Sydney sucked in sweet, sweet air. “Next time think with your brain instead of your muscles.”

She appreciated the big guy's affection, but... she rubbed her aching chest. “It's okay,” wheezed out. “I missed you too.” Her eyes were suddenly blurry and damp as she peered around the room. These people, who she'd fought with, bled with, shared stories and songs and lots and _lots_ of drinks with. “I missed all of you.”

“Drifting, dreaming, doubting.” Cole's dry-leaf tone slipped into the quiet. “What is real? Who am I? Where did I go? Why am I alive?”

Her heart tripped.

“Cole...” someone tried.

“ _Come back to me._ ” He whispered.

“Cole!” Cassandra's sharp command.

But the boy-spirit only pushed into Sydney's personal space and reached out to delicately touch her forehead, trace the thickest scar over her nose. “You didn't give up.” His disconcerting eyes met her own. “Nightmare wanted you to. You wanted to.” He smiled. “But you didn't and Nightmare lost. Thank you. I'm glad you've come back.”

Breathing was a chore, her heart skittering in her chest, and she made to sit down. She mostly fell. She would have if Varric didn't catch and guide her to a seat. “You okay, Tiger?”

Sydney rubbed at her face. “Yea.” Cole might not be a demon, but dammit, he had this... aura about him, especially when he was doing that mind-reading thing. “Just kinda forgot how intense the kid is.”

“S'not easy being 'round him even when yer used to 'im.” Sera huffed, her face crinkled in dislike. “Welcome back, huh? So, how'd you do it? Kill Nightmare?”

“Nightmare's dead?” Sydney coughed.

“We don't really know.” Solas talked over Sera. “But there is no trace to be found of him.”

“You stayed behind.” Hesitant and soft as old jeans, Trevelyan's voice slid across her. “Nightmare was more than a match for all of us, yet you stayed.” He puffed. “And you survived. Maker, Sydney. _You_ should be the one they call Herald.”

Tears were fought back by sticking out her tongue. “Too bad, Maxy-poo. That's your albatross to carry. I get to be the knight.”

“Did Andraste send you home because of your injuries?” He pressed. “Or was she giving you the chance to retire?”

Who knew?

“I am beginning to wonder if Sydney sent herself home.” Morrigan staggered them with a right hook. “She was able to open the doorway here from her world, and she is the key to opening it from the Crossroads. Keiran's voices made no mention of the same awesome power that brought her to our world when she left.”

“It is a reasonable conjecture.” Solas backed her up. “And would explain much.”

“Whatever.” Bull cut in. “All I care about is that Syd's scars are way more impressive than mine. Damn. She'll get all the attention at the tavern. How am I supposed to get laid with her around?”

“No big deal, Pants.” Varric chuckled. “Syd's got herself an engagement ring. You can console all those poor sods crying over lost chances.”

A lusty chuckle, “I like the way you're thinking, storyteller.”

The room devolved into a million conversations, asking about the travelers' return, how, why, where, and _Andraste's sagging tits_ , were half of Sydney's stories true? Did people move around her world in flying cans?

Without raising her voice, trying to gather attention in any way, Leliana garnered the entire room's quiet with the modular tones of a story. She spent the next hour, no two. Three? Sharing her experiences in Sydney's world. She naturally started with her own arrival and shock, at the variety of people, their shapes and colors, at the skyline of buildings, at the smells, pleasant and horrible. She talked about cars. Her words painted a picture of machines both wonderful and horrible, powerful and dangerous, beautiful and ugly, useful and efficient.

The tale moved on to the prison, restaurants, shops, how life in Miami was both the same and so very, _very_ different than anywhere in Thedas. Sydney's change and its shock to Leliana was not glossed over, yet not lingered on. The Lady Nelson, Lord Grosvenor, and Ser Josiah were given broad strokes of gold-tinted description. Favorite things such as wine bars, museums, and bookstores were gushed about. Wickedly, she laughed about how Sydney's world liked to play their _Dragon Age_ games and make costumes to pretend to be their favorite characters such as the beautiful, hard-edged princess of Nevarra. She teased with fanfictions' contents.

What she saw as magic twined with Leliana's exploration of music. She hummed a few bars of a new song from an artist she'd introduced Sydney to. The haze of the story pulled Sydney into performing a duet that ended in giggles and a kiss.

“But how did you get back?” Dorian pushed.

Now sitting together, Leliana leaned on Sydney and talked about the waypoint, how Sydney could sense it, how she'd stumbled through it twice and once on purpose.

“Why? Syd's world sounds like fun. Why in the Maker's balls would you come back to this frozen shit hole?” grunted from Bull. He hated the cold about as much as she did.

Sydney remained quiet. This was Leliana's secret to share or not.

“As dangerous as demons and magic are to Sydney, her world has its own traps. I fully believe her world has magic of its own, despite my love's arguments otherwise, but my body missed the magic of our world. I began to suffer great pain in my skull after some time. It most likely began the day I arrived, but I was too occupied with finding and chasing Sydney to notice. The pain eventually took my ability to do more than lie in bed and cry for hours on end.” She swallowed in vivid remembrance.

“When three days went by with Leli not even drinking tea without me shoving it down her throat, I decided it was time to bring her back.” Sydney finished.

Vivienne's fingers brushed at her close-cropped hair. Fear lurked in her dark eyes. Real fear. Sydney gaped. Had she ever seen Vivienne afraid? Of anything more than bad tailoring?

“Yer here to stay then, yea?” Sera asked from her perch on the table.

Sydney glanced at Leli. “Yes.”

“But Leliana will take her time returning to her duties.” Cullen stepped in after an expressive head tilt from Morrigan. “The sudden return must be a shock to her system, as Morrigan and Solas have expressed concern, and we don't want her taking ill from it.”

“How long should we wait until we throw a party for their return?” Vivienne had already moved on to planning ways to network and improve her status.

Sydney beat Morrigan to, “At least a week.”

“We'll have to plan a larger one to invite those abroad once the snows retreat.” Josephine put in. “Everyone will want to see the risen hero.”

“No.” Sydney balked. “I don't even know if I can still use the sword, and I definitely can't go around fighting with Max like I used to.”

“Nonsense, dear.” Vivienne swept that aside. “Tied to that cane or not, you are Andraste's Knight returned from a battle with an ancient, powerful demon that even the illustrious Marion Hawke ran from.”

“She didn't run! I made her and Alistair drag Trevelyan out before he did something stupid!” Sydney argued.

“Like stay behind to fight a demon the size of a chantry so he could keep closing rifts and trying to stop Corypheus?” Varric said softly. “Sounds like the work of a hero to me.”

“It hurts, it claws, it makes her afraid, but she stands before it and demands a fight.” Unsettling as ever, Cole spoke. “She wants the fight, wants to forget, wants to...” Confusion was written on his face as he tilted his head. “What do you want? I don't understand.”

Her cane creaked under the pressure of her grip.

Fingertips brushed along her knuckles, pulled her from the dark depths of memory to the refreshing blue waters of understanding, of love and Leliana.

“A rope thrown to the drowning, returned to the safety of the ship's deck.” Cole intoned. “Oh. I see.”

“Hey, Cole.” Bull said. “Tell them what you told me about hearing the sword.”

Hearing the sword? Her spine stiffened with interest.

“Clutching, demanding, needing. It cries out for the lost, wants it back, wants to taste what it gave, wants the joy of kindred fire.”

“Oh yes. That made as much sense as it did the last time,” snarked Sera.

“What it means is it wants Syd back.” Bull's giant hands waved dangerously in the air.

Sera squinted at him. “All I heard was blah blah blah.”

“For all your long ears, Sera, you certainly don't hear much.” Vivienne looked askance at her.

“I hear plenty fine, you...”

Sydney tuned out the high screeching that followed. Tried. Bull talking again in his deep, booming voice helped. “Let's go find out.”

“What?”

In one movement, he tossed her to a shoulder, where she shrieked to be put down, that she'd test the sword when she was fucking ready, you big ass cow!

“Iron Bull, you will put my betrothed down.” Leliana was in front of him, staring down the man literally twice her size, sapphire eyes blazing like ice runes. “Now,” was said calmly, sweetly, with every ounce of danger that lurked in her trained frame and spymaster's skills and bardic history.

Bull grunted and obeyed.

Sydney thanked her cane for its support when her knees nearly buckled from the affection and lust pooling in her stomach. Angry Leliana was ridiculously sexy. When that anger was directed at someone else _for_ Sydney...

Demands granted, Leliana returned to placid and friendly. “My thanks.”

“You, I like you.” Sydney grinned. “I think I'll keep you.”

“Yes.” A confident tilt of chin was aimed at her. “You will.”

“Can we at least drop a few nobles' jaws and present you two at dinner tonight?” Bull whined.

“After we put you back in some decent clothes.” Vivienne added. “We cannot have our spymaster and Knight parading about in threadbare homespun.”

Now that, Sydney could get excited about. Quality wools, soft leathers, and smooth cottons. Her toes ached for the fur-lined boots she had stowed in her old quarters. She promptly led the discussion of what she and Leli could wear that night, what was in their wardrobes, what could be added to them. Yea. Let Skyhold know she was back. Fuck this sneaking around. She wanted her warm boots.

Josephine's assistant interrupted the lively room with news that the ambassador had appointments waiting, had been for more than a candlemark, and they were getting rather feisty.

“We have been in here for almost three candlemarks.” Cassandra noted. “I'm surprised they waited this long to harass Yvette into interrupting.”

“Yvette has a talent with distracting nobles whom I've kept waiting overly long.” Josephine defended. “I'm sure they've been demanding my presence for quite some time now. My truancy will not be forgiven easily.” She bowed herself out.

The rest followed, Sydney and Leliana last, their faces on display, servants and nobles and Inquisition officers gawking as they passed through the halls to Leliana's rooms. Sydney smiled and waved. Leliana smiled at her. Rumors and whispers erupted behind, making Leliana's grin curl further, deeper, happier. Her agents would have an easy time with spreading a thousand stories of the Knight's return. Hell. Sydney chuckled. She was starting to come up with a few of her own.

Leliana's rooms welcomed them with a crackling fire and lit candles. And Keiran.

“Mother and Commander Cullen had your rooms readied for you.” He announced as he rose from the desk chair. “Mother said I could wait to greet you. I won't stay long. I have history lessons to attend. You'll be having dinner in the main hall tonight?”

“Yes.”

He nodded. “Then mother and I will as well.” He moved to the door. “Should I have a someone wake you up in a candlemark?” Knowing eyes easily read their exhaustion.

“That'd be great.” Sydney enthused.

“Have a good rest,” was his polite goodbye.

“He's a good kid.” Sydney cooed as she tore the itchy wool clothes off.

Leliana made agreeing noises as she divested herself of clothing. She put a hand under the covers. “They're warmed.”  
Oh thank God. Sydney dove naked under the sheets, Leli a moment later. They curled together and sank into a glorious nap.

 


End file.
